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“Your beef with him is your beef with him, Pax. I have nothing to do with it. And let me repeat, I will never work for him.” She takes a deep breath. “Listen, take it for what it’s worth, believe me, or don’t believe me. My client was actually supposed to take a break for a few months before I found her the next project. I was blindsided, too, when, during that break, her mother sent in her audition.”
I narrow my eyes and watch her, looking for any signs of deceit, but I find none. She looks tired and defeated. She either needs to change career paths because she’s the best actress in the world, or maybe she’s telling the truth.
That doesn’t solve all the problems I have with her, but—
“Paxton, I didn’t do what you think I did. I didn’t allow my father to call in favors for me. And if you just put aside your hatred for him for a minute, you might see that.” She stands from the towel and then dusts off the sand on her leg. “I’m going to check on whether our clients are faring better than us.”
For the first time, I begin to question if I’m wrong about her.
Fuck my life.
Another damn tweet.
My grip on my phone is so tight that I’m afraid the glass might crack. I guess Stefan was wrong about the people he fired. He only made the set unsafe. The problem still isn’t resolved. Someone on this island is still leaking privileged information to the press.
But instead of the truth, a terrible accident that no one could have prevented was spun in a way to exaggerate the fight and how unsafe the island is.
The working conditions are being called into question.
Everything posted today was total bullshit; I’m pissed, and so is the studio.
The chatter is the higher-ups are considering pulling the plug on the whole project. Which means my main goal in life is to fix this shit.
Trekking across the path, I find Natasha. “We need to spin this.”
“Good morning to you, too, Paxton.” Her eyes sparkle with lust, and the last thing that should be on her mind right now is sex.
“I have no time for this bullshit, and I’m surprised you do. We need to get the truth out about what really happened.”
“And that will help how, Paxton? The dock broke—the only dock on the island. Right now, it’s pure speculation. Well, other than the picture of Teagan’s mom and the director falling into the water. Yeah, that went viral.”
But luckily, in that picture, all you can see is them falling. No dock.
She’s not wrong, though. If the studio saw a picture of the broken dock going viral, they would pull the plug, and there is no way that can happen. Way too much rides on this.
“Can we at least counter the leak about the fight? Throw out a picture of them getting along.”
“That we can do. We can feed them our own info. Not a bad plan, Pax . . . .” She moves closer to me, and I step back. “Good thing we have one professional on the scene.” She scoffs. “Mallory Reynolds is worthless. Typical Hollywood nepotism at its finest.”
It’s no different from anything I’ve said or thought, but coming from Natasha, it doesn’t sit well with me. She doesn’t know a fucking thing about Mallory.
“That’s bullshit, Natasha. She’s working her ass off for Teagan. She’s here just like me. Give her a goddamn break.”
Natasha’s eyes widen, and she stutters over her next words. “I-I-I didn’t know.”
“Just set up the meeting,” I snap, turning my back on her.
“I will,” she calls out, but I don’t give her any more of my attention.
The only person here sleeping on their job is her. She should’ve already been spinning this shit, yet it was me who needed to feed her an idea.
Fucking worthless.
I head to today’s location, fuming about what just went down. I don’t have the energy to unravel why I’m so heated.
I come upon another clearing, this one smaller.
Logs are scattered all around, and Teagan is on the ground, Mallory behind her.
What are they up to?
I head toward them when I see Brad not far away, watching the girls intently.
“Pax,” he calls out when he sees me, waving his arms.
Is it too late to walk away, career be damned.
“What’s up, man? What are they doing?” I incline my chin toward the girls.
He crosses his arms at his chest. “Practicing.”
My head tilts as I take in the scene again. “Practicing what?”
“For the next scene.” He blows out a puff of air.
I shake my head. “I’m not following.”
“It’s the scene in the book where Teagan’s character tries to start a fire. Most of the wood is wet, and she can’t seem to get it going. My character sees her struggling and goes to help her.”
