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"The truth is, I think most of them are more pissed that I won't sleep with them so they run to the tabloids saying that I was a prick. Damned if you do, damned if you don't I guess right?" I pose the question, hoping she will take the bait and give me some kind of response. I am about to learn how to communicate with smoke signals to get through to her.
"It wasn't the question that hurt me, Brett," she uses my name and it makes my heart do some stupid flip. "It was the assumption that I was there to baby trap you or something. If my goal was to seduce you, I wouldn't have shown up in the worst outfit ever," she says with a smile parting her lips and the relief already takes its place rolling over me, loosening my muscles.
"You could seduce me in a unicorn onesie. That's not really a valid argument."
Am seriously arguing with her in the middle of my apology? Ella was right, I am such a dumbass.
"Lucky for us, I don't own a unicorn onesie."
I don't remember getting out of my chair or moving to her but I am close enough that I feel her breasts brush me with every breath she takes. My hand finds her waist and I try to decide if I want to pull her to me or I want to lock her against the wall so she can't help but accept every ounce of my apology.
She chooses for both of us when her small fingers clutch the back of my neck, bringing me down a few inches to line up our lips. I stick my tongue out playfully, licking quickly against her bottom lip. And then she is on me, practically jumping into my arms as she locks her arms around my neck and plants her lips on mine.
I grip her tight, not wanting this to end. I get lost in her lips, suffocated by her kiss and I decide I no longer need oxygen. I could live off the air in her kiss. Every pant and moan fuels me. I can't get enough.
Carter is the one to pull away. I sure as fuck didn't plan to at all. Who needs to work right?
"Confession time," she says between breaths, straightening the shirt I was clutching so tightly to. Confessions can go one of two ways.
Confession version one: she has something to admit that makes us closer and will most likely end in a fit of laughter.
Confession version two: she is about to tell me something I should have known all along but the cover of forgiveness seems like the best time to drop a bomb and not have it explode into a million pieces.
"I thought you were going to fire me this morning. I didn't even brush my hair thinking I would be walking back home in a few minutes, anyways."
Thank fucking hell for it being version one.
"Fire you? Then I would be on HR's radar," I say with a playful wink. "Besides, we only have two more days before we wrap. I might as well let you stick it out to the end. Once we wrap, you're no longer off limits."
"Crap, I will be right back. I need to change before the rest of the crew gets here."
With that, she bolts from my office and all I can think is that soon I won't have an excuse to see her every day. I will have to come up with something new to give me a reason.
Twoweeksofworkingwith BK and the rest of the crew and I am already dreading the end. We wrap today and I don't know what to expect. What comes next for me? Do I go back to being an unemployed, dime-a-dozen freelancer dreaming to be back here? Can I stomach going back to that version of me?
I can physically feel the impact that this opportunity has given me. I feel the confidence in my ability and I want nothing more than to show that. Not to mention, Brett has been asking me to be closer on set, my place no longer in the chair of silence. Every chance he gives me to add something to the shoot, I give my best. Keeping the vision in mind and finding fresh ways to convey the message Ovis is striving for.
Lacey has been incredible to work with, open to direction, and patient with the process. I can't help but be annoyed that it took this long to get to the point where I could truly be a second shooter and not an assistant. If only I could turn back to the first days on set and do things differently, gain his trust earlier.
Sadly, that's not how the real world works. There's no redo or rewind. You can watch the reruns, but you can't change them. Only learn and grow, writing a better version of you for the next season of life.
I can feel his eyes on me, stealing glances more than he should while we are still co-workers. We haven't touched each other since the moment in his office when he apologized and pushed me into a pool of forgiveness with every word. It's like there's this invisible clock ticking above our heads waiting for the moment we are no longer expected to stay platonic.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Burger King: Wrap party at my place tonight?
Me: You're having the whole crew to your apartment that barely has a private bathroom?
Burger King: I didn't say anything about the whole crew…I asked you.
I glance up to see him watching me. It's weirdly intimate to have a private conversation with someone while there are people all around. Like there is a secret that only you know fluttering around your stomach.
Me: Promise not to stab me?
Burger King: Promise not to stab you…with a knife ;)
Holy crap, he borderline sexted me just now. Keeping my face in check is not easy, especially when I know it is more red than the strawberries I had earlier.
