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“I don’t have a problem reporting to you,” I retorted. “I have a problem with you interfering when I’m trying to do my job. It’s hard to prep a subject for an on-camera interview when the head of the studio is throwing his weight around, intimidating them.”
Julian’s oceanic eyes darkened with disbelief. “The head of the studio was throwing his weight around foryou,Ms. Laurier. And thesubjectneeds to learn to keep his hands to himself.”
“His hands are none of your business,” I gritted out. God save me from men who wanted to save me from other men. They never saw that they were the worst offenders. I’d rather someone touch my arm without permission than someone tell someone else where they could and couldn’t touch me. The hero delusion variant was the worst strain of narcissism.
Julian didn’t like that answer. He crossed his arms, unconsciously imitating my stance, and squared his shoulders. “Like it or not, Ms. Laurier, everything that happens on a Lewis Productions set is my business. If you want Brendan Gibson’s hands on you, do it on your own time.”
My jaw felt like it was going to crack from how tightly my teeth were gritted. Of course he was implying that I was a slut now. As a woman, I must want something from a man, and if it wasn’t Julian’s help, it must be Brendan’s groping. “I don’t want anyone’s hands on me,” I snapped, hating the way a blush crept into my cheeks as I said the words. “ButItell people when they can’t touch me. Not you. Not even when it happens on your set.”
“Why?” Julian asked, exasperation cracking through his anger. “I can promise you they hear it a lot more clearly when it comes from me.”
“Maybe so, but it’s my job on this set to make them hearme.” I couldn’t help softening slightly at the confusion in his voice. When I was feeling charitable, I understood that men like my father and Julian were products of their time, and really, Julian wasn’t the worst version. He just didn’t understand that he wasn’t protecting me so much as undermining me. “At least, itwasmy job,” I added, reminding him that he’d essentially just fired me.
Julian and I stared at each other, arms crossed, tempers still simmering. In my head, I imagined the phone call I’d have to make to Fletcher. “I lasted three hours on set, and I didn’t get a damn thing that you can use against Julian Lewis, who is every inch the asshole you said he was.”Honestly, it might be worth getting fired to have that conversation. Maybe I would do it in person so I could see his florid face turn that ugly shade of puce it always did when he was thwarted.
But then I’d be right back in the same bad spot I’d been in when I’d agreed to play my role in this sham. Worse off, really, because there was no way I’d ever get hired on a Lewis Productions set again. So, I was reluctantly relieved when Julian’s shoulders relaxed and he said, “It’s still your job, if you want it.”
I waited a cool couple of seconds before saying, “I want it.”
The corners of Julian’s mouth twitched. He looked torn between amusement and irritation. “Where do you come from, Willow Laurier?”
It was impossible to answer honestly, so I tilted my head. “You know better than anyone, Julian Lewis.” That was true in a way he didn’t understand. We both came from a similar place–the offspring of the wealthy and powerful. But then I added, “After all, you’ve read my resume.”
“Why do I get the feeling your resume doesn’t tell me the whole story?” he asked quietly, his face suddenly very serious.
My stomach dropped and my heart beat triple time in my chest. It was one thing to fail; it was another thing altogether to get caught. I searched Julian’s face for a sign he knew more than he was letting on, or that he even suspected. I didn’t see how he could–I didn’t look a damn thing like my father. I didn’t even look like my half-sister–she’d taken after her mother, a wintry blonde with glacier blue eyes set deep in a heart-shaped face.
“I think you must be on the wrong side of your business,” I said finally. “You should be writing the movies, not producing them.”
“No one has ever accused me of having that much imagination.” Julian’s gaze stayed on mine, pensive and probing. The air between us was thick with tension and filled with crackling static. I had the irrational thought that he was listening for the truth in that static, that if we stayed silent for another moment, he might put his finger on what was eluding him.
I had to say something, do something,quick, or any minute now–
Before the thought could even reach its frantic conclusion, the door banged open behind me, slamming off the brick building. I spun around, nearly stumbling back into Julian. Automatically, he uncrossed his arms and put his hands up, steadying me.
Miller stood framed in the doorway, his arm bracing the door that was trying to swing back shut. He squinted against the bright sunlight, then glared at us. “If you two are done fucking around back here, I’d like my production assistant back, Lewis.”
I couldn’t see Julian’s face, but flames licked up my own. Burning with anger and embarrassment, because it was impossible to miss the deliberate pause betweenfuckingandaround back here. “We’re done,” I snapped, stepping forward and putting distance between my back and Julian’s steadying hand.
“Not quite,” Julian murmured, halting me in my tracks.
“Not quite?” Miller repeated loudly.
Julian spared him a brief glance, then focused on me again. “We’ll finish this later, Ms. Laurier.”
I bared my teeth in what could have been a smile, if someone had that much imagination. “You’re the boss.”
“And don’t think he’ll ever let you forget it,” Miller muttered, and he slammed the door close between us.
8
JULIAN
“If you’re so sure she’s not trustworthy, why don’t you fire her?” Landon asked that Tuesday night at happy hour.
“Because he wants to sleep with her,” Garrett replied as if it should be obvious. He glanced around the table for confirmation.
Dominic nodded and Con looked at the ceiling, abstaining.
