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I was surprised at the zap of loneliness that went through me. I was used to my mother flying off on her adventures. She’d kept herself landlocked until I graduated high school, but she’d been making up for lost time ever since. Usually, I thought it was great, but just now, I wanted someone to celebrate with.
I let her go and texted a few girlfriends to see who might be free. While I was waiting, my mom sent me a screenshot. A young Sheldon Lewis, the spitting image of his son. The same magnetic blue eyes, golden hair that was just long enough to tousle, same square jaw that looked like he should be in front of the camera instead of pulling the strings behind it. The difference was, this man had a hard-nosed determination, whereas Julian Lewis had a smug, contented glow about him that I found borderline infuriating.
Then, suddenly, the image disappeared, replaced by an incoming call. A number I didn’t recognize. I answered it anyway.
“Willow, yeah? Willow Laurier?”
The man on the other end pronounced my mother’s last name wrong, rolling hard into both Rs. I stifled a laugh, recognizing the voice. “Hi, Miller.”
His voice came in a furtive rush. “Willow, you’re hired, okay? Don’t worry about that asshole Lewis. Be on set at eight on Thursday, okay?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Miller. I have to go through HR. SAG has rules.”
“Fuck SAG. I’ll see you at eight.”
“You won’t–”
He hung up before I could finish my sentence. I laughed again anyway. It might not be official, but if Miller wanted me, Julian was going to have a hard time convincing him to accept anyone else. I recognized a power struggle when I saw one, and I didn’t care much who won as long as I got a job out of it.
* * *
The next morning, I was back at Julian’s office. HR had reached out and arranged another interview shortly after I got off the phone with Miller. Bemused, I’d agreed. I expected to see Miller there, too, but to my surprise, it was just Julian when Chad, his EA, led me in.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Chad asked me. “Water? Coffee?”
Julian frowned at him. “You never offer to getmecoffee.”
“I could say the same for you,” Chad said sweetly.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing and shook my head. Then my smile collapsed as Chad pulled the door shut, and I was left alone with Julian Lewis. He was sitting behind his desk today, so I lowered myself into one of the two chairs across from it.
“Thank you for coming in again,” Julian said formally. I noticed he didn’t offer his hand again, and I was glad. That jolt yesterday had caught me off guard. Not that I expected it to happen again. It had been static electricity or something. It couldn’t have been just the touch of his palm.
“Of course.” I crossed my legs and caught how his gaze flickered down to them. My skirt was knee-length, but to a guy like Julian, bare skin was bare skin. If I was showing it, I must want him to look. Only years of practice kept my mouth from pulling down disdainfully in one corner. Some girls thought it was the creepy old guys who were the worst, but for me, it was the handsome ones. The ones who didn’t even feel entitled, necessarily, but who assumed that their attention was a favor.
Julian was smooth, though. His gaze was back on mine in a nanosecond. His eyes weresoblue that if I were any other woman, I might welcome it. Vibrant, oceanic. The kind of eyes you could drown in, if you let yourself.
Which I never would, of course.
Julian cleared his throat. “I brought you in to offer you the production assistant position with Miller.” Everything in his voice saidbut, and I waited a moment for it to land.
“But?” I finally prompted when he didn’t continue.
For a moment, he looked surprised, then he smiled. It electrified his face to a devastating effect. Even my cold, jaded heart skipped a beat at the sight. “This is why I have to hire you,” Julian said, almost to himself.
“Even though you aren’t sure you want to?” I guessed.
Julian nodded slowly. “Don’t take it personally. Your resume speaks for itself. Your references are unimpeachable. You have great instincts. But I need someone who can do more than just be good at the job.”
My eyebrows arched up before I could stop them. So much for years of schooled neutrality. “More.” I repeated, letting a little acid drip into my voice. Just a few drops. It could have been a question rather than a warning, but itwasa warning. If this job also entailed blowing Miller, I’d tell Julian where he could put my resume. And if Fletcher knew what he was asking me to do, I’d deal with him next.
Julian nodded again, not seeming to notice my acidic tone. “Generally, as you know, a production assistant works for the director. This position will be a little different. You’ll workwithMiller, but you’ll be workingforme. I need to be kept apprised of every detail of his progress. This project is…important.”
Ah, yes. Here it was. The power struggle I’d sensed in my interview. “And Miller isn’t supposed to know about this surveillance,” I guessed.
Julian shrugged his shoulders. “He knows, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. I need someone who can handle him but who is loyal to me.”
There was a beat in which his words took on a strange, double meaning in my mind. It was on the tip of my tongue to retort that I’d never be loyal to him, but I swallowed them.
