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That’s partially my own fault. I’ve been a dick to her since the beginning. I’m starting to think that maybe my anger was misplaced.
Since we’ve been here, she’s done nothing but work her ass off for Teagan.
Running lines.
Practicing scenes.
Hell, she goes to bat for her every chance she gets.
When I’m only a few feet away, I hear Mallory on the phone, and she’s not happy with whoever is on the other line. I don’t intend to listen, but something catches my attention, and I decide to slink into the brush to avoid being seen.
Dick move, but whatever.
“Why? Why the hell would you do that?”
The person on the other line must be speaking because the only thing I hear is Mallory’s deep breathing.
“I didn’t ask you to make that call. I never would’ve. She’s my client, and I’m capable of getting her roles,” she practically yells. “I’ll never work for you, Dad. I told you this. I want to make it on my own, and your interference prevents that. Stop, or this will be the last time I speak to you.”
She ends the call and stalks back toward the table.
I stand here for several minutes, replaying what I just overheard. I can only assume it was her father on the other end. Could she have been talking about this role and his interference?
It’s the only thing that makes sense.
Fuck.
I’ve been such an asshole.
I run my hands back through my hair, trying to figure out how to atone for my behavior.
Do I even care to?
Without any more thought to it, I head back toward her. The closer I get, I see how uncomfortable she looks, and I wonder why.
“I didn’t touch the food, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Her head snaps up. “Wait, you haven’t eaten either?”
I shrug.
“Have you eaten today at all?”
Again, my shoulders lift.
“Jeez, Paxton. I can’t take this.” She slides the plate toward me.
“Let’s share.” As soon as the words are out, I see the skepticism in her narrowed eyes and scrunched-up nose.
“Paxton.”
“Mallory,” I challenge back. “We’re both starving. We can’t work like this.”
She looks down at the plate. There’s plenty for both of us. Chicken, rice, and vegetables, but I only have one fork and knife.
I push up to stand. “But first, I need to get you something.” Her eyebrow lifts. “A fork. Unless you want to share mine?” I wink.
Mallory shakes her head from side to side. “No. Another fork would be great. Can’t be sharing—”
I smirk, and her cheeks turn a warm shade of red, which seems to be standard Mallory. The girl blushes at the drop of a hat.
She sure does get flushed around me a lot for someone who hates me. Across the grass, a small table is set up with utensils.
After today and all the work I see that the actors have to do to make the filming seem authentic, I’m surprised we even have craft services set up.
Knowing Stefan, I bet he would have been okay if we had to hunt and gather to eat.
Something tells me that’s what Jeffrey is doing here.
When I reach the table, I grab what we need and turn toward where Mallory is sitting.
A man stands by her, engaging her in conversation.
From this angle, I can’t see who it is. My eyes narrow at Mallory, whose posture has changed from relaxed to sitting upright.
She looks even more uncomfortable than before, and my hand clenches around the fork and knife—the cold metal biting into my skin.
I stalk toward the table, and the man turns. It’s one of the cameramen. Bill, I think that’s his name. When he sees me heading their way, he rushes off, but not before I notice the look he gives her.
Fucking creep.
“Everything okay?”
She reaches her hand up and runs her fingers through her hair, a normal gesture, but it’s the way her brows pinch in and the two lines that form between them that have me concerned.
“You don’t look like everything’s okay. What did he say to you?” I can’t keep the steel from my tone.
If he said one inappropriate thing, I’ll send his ass packing.
“Now you're an expert on the faces I make?”
“Mal—”
She inclines her chin down at the nickname.
“Stop, Paxton. We aren’t friends. You don’t need to protect me.”
Placing the fork down in front of her, I lift my hand in surrender. “Let’s just eat.”
Sitting across from her, I look in the direction the camera guy came and then back at her.
I don’t voice my comments or questions. Instead, I opt to stay quiet. She needs a minute to calm down from whatever bothers her because it’s clearly not me.
I try my hardest to allow her the time she needs and the opportunity to open up to me, but when she continues to sit there, pushing her food around, I’m done giving her space.
