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“You’re Joey Wilson. It’s time to embrace it.”
“So does that mean I get your credit card?” I start to laugh immediately after the words tumble out of my mouth. I didn’t mean it to sound like I want to spend his money. I don’t. I can earn my own and still plan to.
“Yes, but it will have your name on it. I’ve already ordered it.”
“You did? When?”
He motions for me to sit down, but instead of sitting across from him, I sit next to him so we can face each other.
“Before I asked you to marry me again.”
“What if I had said no?”
He shrugs and instead of answering right away, he gives me a glass of champagne and brings a strawberry to my lips. I bite, taking my time to push through the sweet fruit. Josh lets out an audible growl, causing me to laugh.
“Even if you had said no, I had no intention of filing the paperwork until we had a chance to spend some time together. I knew how you felt about me. . . hell, how you feel about us, and wanted to fight for a chance with you.”
I take a drink of the champagne, letting the cool bubbly liquid tickle its way down my throat. “I wouldn’t have spent your money.”
“I know, but it would’ve been there for you if you needed it.”
The fact that he did this isn’t lost on me. I know I’m entitled to his earnings—maybe not what he’s done prior to our marriage, but everything coming up—and knowing that makes me ill. I would never take advantage of him like that. If he were to file for divorce, as he originally planned early on, I would’ve been fine. Albeit, heartbroken.
“Do you want me to sign a pre-nup?”
Blanching at my question, he shakes his head. Josh downs his glass of champagne and finishes mine for me also. I want to balk, but the seriousness I see on his face tells me I shouldn’t say anything.
Josh kisses me; his cold tongue tastes fruity, and it’s very inviting. Before I realize what’s happening, we’re on our sides with my leg between his and our lips moving aggressively against each other’s.
“What’s mine is yours. Tonight when we get back to the hotel, I’ll show you everything. You can see all my earnings, and what I have in the pipeline.”
“Josh, I don’t need to see all of that.”
“You’re my partner, Joey, and I’m going to want your opinion on scripts. Plus, you need to know how much to spend when looking for a house for us.”
“A house?”
He shrugs. “Or maybe a condo. I’m not too keen on the idea that I’ll be on location and you’ll be home, waiting for me. Selfishly, I’d rather have you in a hotel waiting for me to come back every night.”
“I’ll be wherever you want me to be.”
He smiles before kissing me into oblivion. I don’t want this euphoria to go away, but know deep in my heart it will if we’re not careful.
six
Joshua
Beingon set right now sucks. It’s not that I hate my job because I don’t. I love what I do and am blessed to have a talent that pays me well. It’s just that I want to be someplace else and making this movie is the last thing I want to be doing right now. The timing is bad, but I had no idea that spending my summer in a house, married to someone that I’d fall in love with, would put a wrench into my plans. I want to whisk Joey away to some island, where her and I can just be us and not worry about anything, but I can’t. I’m filming back-to-back movies and it’ll be months before we’re able to go away and spend quality time with each other.
The worst part about this whole situation was leaving Joey’s warm arms at the crack-ass of dawn and walking into a hot and humid trailer. I didn’t even bother anyone with a hello when I arrived on set, I just yelled out asking why the air conditioner wasn’t on because I was angry that my life isn’t going the way I want it to right now. It’s not even that hot, but between the thicker air and my frustration of having to end my honeymoon, it’s the only thing I could think of to let people know I’m not happy.
Without any more provocation on my part, the AC was flipped on, even though I probably could’ve done without it at four in the morning. I’m not sure what the director is thinking, starting us off on a sunrise scene, but whatever. They get paid the big bucks for their creative vision, not me.
“Sit here,” an overly eager and far too peppy woman with a headset on, who appears out of nowhere, barks orders at me. I’m willing to bet she was the one who flipped the switch on the air conditioner, as she’s the only other person in my trailer. She’s telling people what to do through her microphone and pointing in every direction even though there isn’t another person in sight. To my knowledge I’m the only one in here right now unless I’m sharing. And if that’s the case, Matt and I will be having words very shortly.
“Here’s your schedule for the day, along with your lines broken out per scene. You need to be in make-up in five.” With that she storms out, slamming the door behind her, and continues to yap into her headset. I go over the stack of papers, rereading the lines that I’ve already committed to memory. Even though I know them, I’ll refresh my memory before every scene because I know I’m likely to forget since my head isn’t in it right now.
As soon as I step outside, I wish for the cool air in my trailer. People with the same disgruntled look that I’m wearing, filter around mumbling incoherent sentences as they hustle to do their jobs. I’ve always said that one day I want to do each job on a movie set, but I never get the time and no one ever takes me seriously. Most A-list stars think I’m crazy when I say that, brushing me off as if I’m trying to prove something. I’m not. I’m trying to learn the craft because my good looks will only get me so far until the next young stud comes along. I need a backup plan. Everyone has to start and even finish somewhere, and while some were born into the industry, or happened to hit it big with one movie, I’m paving my way with each movie I’m in.
