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“Did you know that jets are just as safe as big commercial aircrafts? Actually, due to their size, they can maneuver better around turbulence. They can actually fly to a higher altitude to go above the clouds, and if need be, they can change flight plans easier, too.”
“Wow, aren’t you a wealth of knowledge?” Her sarcasm is not lost on me, but I don’t allow that to deter me.
“I am.”
She smirks. “And modest, too.”
“That I’m not.” I shake my head back and forth.
“Well, on that note . . .” She removes her hand from the armrest, reaches into her bag, and places her earphones in her ears, clearly dismissing me.
Guess my interference did its job. She’s on to the next thing.
Even better? She hasn’t drummed her fingers since I told her my story.
I call that a win, even if I still want to shake the woman.
5
Mallory
@Stargossip: The hot news on the set of Twisted Lily is that reinforcements have been called in to wrangle in the circus. The reps are en route, and this little birdie has heard that trouble is brewing on multiple ends in paradise.
@Deathtothesystem: Finally! This movie is gonna suck anyway . . .
@Iloveme: F that! Get to work!
@PetrafiedDivaDog: Boo . . . I heard that we’d get a peek at Brad’s a$$!
@Deathtothesystem: @PetrafiedDivaDog: Eww . . . who wants to see that?
A small, broken dinghy was not on my bingo card.
After getting off the plane and heading here, I didn’t think it was possible to have one crazier thing happen . . .
Welp.
Here I am, standing on the dock, hand on my hip, mouth hanging open, staring at the tiniest boat I have ever seen. One that has seen better days. I’m shocked, and I shouldn’t be.
“This isn’t a boat. I’m aware I sound like a Karen . . . but with all due respect, this isn’t a boat.” I turn to look at Paxton, begging this all to be a joke. Hoping he’ll start laughing at any minute.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead by the way he’s staring at me. “I applaud you for recognizing that you are, in fact, a Karen. The moniker fits your personality to a T.”
“You can’t be serious.” My voice pitches, and I stamp my foot like a child.
Wonderful. I’m feeding right into Paxton’s hands.
“I hate to break it to you, but this is, in fact, a boat—our boat, to be exact,” Paxton quips.
I blink, incredulity rising by the minute.
“Not one you would take across the open ocean, right?”
Please laugh.
Please tell me you’re fucking with me.
From where he’s standing, the bright sunlight streaks across his face, making him squint. “It is, and we are, princess.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“You literally just said those same words, and my stance hasn’t changed.” He lifts his hands to run his fingers through his hair, tugging on the root, clearly annoyed by my behavior.
Hell, I’m annoyed by my behavior, but that thing can’t be safe.
“Just get on the boat.”
My head shakes violently. “Hell no.”
Paxton’s jaw works back and forth, and I swear I can hear his teeth grinding. Maybe they’ll crack, and his image can match closer to his personality.
Ugly. Inside and out.
“Listen, princess, we can stand around all day, having you stare like a dog waiting to be walked, but basically, it comes down to this. You have two choices.” He lifts his pointer finger. “One. You get on the boat, you do your job, and we fix whatever problem is going down on the ridiculous set.” He lifts his middle finger. “Or two, you go home to Daddy and all the others who’ve contributed to turning you into the spoiled brat you are.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
He thinks I’d run home to my father, but that is the last thing I’d ever do. It’s the very thing I’ll avoid at all costs.
“Nothing to say? No snarky remark?” He’s baiting me, and I know it.
The truth is, I’d rather fail than ask my dad for help.
“You think you’ve got it all figured out, Paxton. Why should I attempt to convince you otherwise?”
He huffs. “Save your breath, princess.”
Paxton thinks he has it all figured out, but he couldn’t be more wrong. A princess? It’s laughable, and the farthest thing from the truth. Yes, in name, I might be considered Hollywood royalty for some, but if he saw the way I lived and how I acted with everyone but him, he’d know how wrong he is.
My bank statement can attest to that fact.
Anger boils deep inside the pit of my stomach. It fills me to the point of rage. I won’t let him see the fire inside me, though. Instead, I tamp it down and take a deep breath.
“Let’s go,” I say through gritted teeth.
There’s nothing more to say. I don’t have a choice; I have to go with him on this death trap. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Nor does it mean I’m not scared. It’s practically rotting out in front of us.
