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I purse my lips and shrug a shoulder. “Not particularly.”
Mallory’s face looks hard, and bitterness spills over her words. “You’re pathetic. You run around with your quick wit and faux charm like you’re some kind of god around town.”
“Thank you,” I cut in, smiling widely at the backhanded compliment.
“Don’t thank me because I know you’re nothing special. You’re just like every other playboy, using his looks to climb the ladder.” She huffs a laugh. “So, tell me, Paxton . . . how does that make you superior?”
“You think you have me pegged?” I chuckle darkly. “You don’t have one fucking clue.”
“And I don’t want to. You’ve shown your true colors, and I’m fine never to speak to you again. If you can’t see that I’m nothing like my father, that’s your loss. Either way, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
I step back, assessing as I peer down at her. She’s got a fire in her that I have to admit is impressive.
From the corner of my eye, I see movement and turn to watch as Teagan runs off the set.
“Great,” I snap. “Where’s your client going?”
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
“Teagan. She just ran off. From what I gathered this morning from Michael, she’s filming all day.” I move closer, smirking down at her. “You need to do your job better. There are some things not even Daddy can make better.”
Mallory lets out an audible gasp. “You are such a—”
“Careful . . . word around town is there’s still a leak on set. I’d hate for your reputation to be tarnished.”
“Ass.”
That makes me smile.
Moving back up to my full height, I shake my head. “You better go see where the hell she’s off to. We can’t afford more Teagan theatrics.”
An instant later, she’s doing just that, rushing off in the direction Teagan went.
With her out of sight, I take in a calming breath, trying to get my anger and hard-on under control. I shift, trying to readjust, so it’s not noticeable when someone steps up beside me.
“What has her running off?”
I clear my throat, and turning, I find Brad staring off toward the tree line where Mallory just disappeared.
I shrug. It’s not like I have any of the details.
“Following her client, I assume,” I say, hoping it’ll prompt him to share what he knows. When he doesn’t offer, I press. “What happened back there? Teagan ran off like someone was chasing her.”
“Who knows?” He smirks.
My eyebrows tilt inward as I take him in. “I think you do know.” When he remains silent on the subject, I level him with my stare. “Brad—”
“What?” He lifts his hands in the air. “I had nothing to do with that.”
I incline my head, two seconds from snapping. “How come I don’t believe you?”
“Ugh. Fine.” He shuffles his feet, looking up at the sky. “I might have said something about Theresa.”
My hands lift to my temples and rub. “What, pray tell, did you say?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Brad,” I snap, tone hardening to something that says I’m not backing down. Not until he tells me.
He rolls his eyes, and the impulse to strangle him is so intense that I have to take a page out of Mallory’s book and tap my hand to my thigh. “I might have implied that I could help her.”
“Help her how?” When he looks away from me, I know he couldn’t help himself. “Goddammit, Brad. We’ve spoken about this. There’s no coming on to your costars.”
“It was a harmless joke.”
“Harmless joke that had her taking off.” I motion toward the trees.
He bites his cheek, moving his shoulders. “Well, maybe not that harmless.”
Fuck. The last thing I need is more bad press for Brad. Making a pass at a costar, especially one so young and new to the scene, would not bode well if the tabloids got a hold of it.
“What exactly did you say?”
His eyes lower to his shoes. “I might have implied that one way to shut her mother up and have her back down would be if we were friends . . .”
“And by friends, you meant . . .?”
“Fucking. If we were friendly fucking.”
“Goddammit.” I lift my hand and run it through my hair, pulling at the roots. A headache has formed, a headache named Brad. “You need to cut this shit out.”
“And you need to back down, Pax. We already established this,” he deadpans. “You have a lot to lose if you piss me off.”
“And you don’t if this leaks?”
“First off, I never said ‘fucking’ to her. I said ‘friends’. I offered my help.”
“At a price,” I groan.
“Well, it wasn’t clearly stated.” He smiles. This man is way too confident in his skills of being discreet. There is nothing discreet about him.
Sometimes I wonder what the female population sees in the guy. He’s a greasy, used-up salesman, conning young women into his bed with false promises of help.
