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“Meaning what?”
“Meaning, mine has never once yelled cut.”
Frowning, I go to speak when we’re bombarded by two soaking wet beauties. I fight to reach Blake, to grab his attention, but he wrestles his wife into his lap before he looks back at me with a million-watt smile. It’s one of the only times I’ve ever seen him smile like that, so at peace. “It’s a good life,” he mouths as he trails his fingers down Amanda’s bare skin. My questions fall away as Mila throws a leg over me and lays her head on my chest. Seconds later, we fall asleep next to the soothing sound of waves.
I’m being dragged by my collar into the garage. The gravel digging into my skin beneath my suit.
“He’s too fucked up to know what’s happening.”
“Orders are orders. Tonight’s the night.”
“Five minutes earlier, we would have got him sober.”
“Fuck, he stinks.”
“That’s because he shit himself. Screw this, I’m taking more of a cut on this if I have to be the one to get him in the car.”
“I’m not touching him.”
“What a waste. This is Nikki Rayo, huh?”
“Have respect, he’s the reason I got in the game.”
“Then maybe you should do the honors.”
“I think I will.”
Seconds later, I’m tossed into the back of the Rolls.
“This isn’t much of a payback, should we wait for him to snap out of it?”
“He’s got so much H running through his system, he’s fucking smiling. Just get it over with.”
I feel the pressure at my neck until the blood pours out. Blake’s smile on that beach is the last thing I see before I hear the words, “Cut. That’s a wrap.”
Mila
Nova: We wrapped an hour ago.
Putting away the rest of my dishes I muster up my courage when I see Lucas’s Land Rover pull up. Standing in the hall, I hear the telling jiggle of his keys and the metal click into place, but the bolt doesn’t budge.
I hear an irritated, “What the hell?” before a sharp knock sounds at the door. “Mila.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s just as odd of a feeling that he’s finally back, as it was when he returned from Egypt, except this time I don’t want to fling open the door and fly into his arms. The fact that he thinks it’s as simple as him coming home has my blood boiling.
“Mila,” he says again, knocking in succession.
“I had them changed.” The knocking stops. “I don’t want you here.”
“Baby, I’m so tired, so tired. I need to lay eyes on you. I know how upset you are, but it’s over. Please open the door.”
“You’re right, it is over, at least for the moment. You need to leave.”
“I can—”
“Explain? Surely you can think of a better line than that, actor.”
“Mila—”
