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But, I guess I meet a lot of men like that now that I’m with Crave & Cure. But at Jizzabelle, with Pete, there wasn’t a singlegoodman on the roster.
I can’t pinpoint a singular thing about him that intrigues me. I guess it’s everything. Or maybe my sore, aching brain looking desperately for a diversion from reality.
“It’s not your worry,” I say, recentering myself in the conversation with Aug. “Honestly, you guys helped me move after you helped me find the apartment. You brought this job to me, and the line with Debauchery. You’ve already done so much,” I say, every word genuine. This man walked into my life like a fucking blessing, the deus ex machina of my story, my canon event, saving me from a world where I’d cornered myself into seemingly inescapable toxic misery. “It isn’t your worry,” I repeat, demanding his attention, eyes pinning him with serious intensity.
I do not want to be pitied. I’ve accepted his help, but I won’t be the studio’s wounded bird. I need to move past this and show them I’m okay. Them obviously being code for me.
“One-hundred and two times is restraining order territory,” Augustus offers, rising from his crouch, running his hands down his thighs. From somewhere not far, Lance appears at Augustus’s side, his trusty iPad in his hands.
As if he’s been sitting in on this conversation, Lance says, “I can get Dante in legal to get a restraining order in the works if you’d like, Scarlett.”
My eyes veer to Aug who leans into my questioning gaze with a subtle bob of his head. “Lance is—” he glances over at Lance, who I already know is Aug’s right-hand man. In the last month and a half I’ve been here, I don’t think there’s been more than a few times I’ve seen Aug without Lance. He’s the assistant director or something, and while I admit to having liked Nickelback at one point in my life, I’m not a complete moron.
Whatever connection they have extends beyond this studio. But the same way I desire privacy around my embarrassing personal life, I pay Augustus the same respect. I don’t ask him about things that don’t concern me.
“I get it. He knows and it’s safe for him to know,” I say, tossing Lance a scrap of a smile. In truth, I assumed he knew based on my assumptions about the two of them. I guess what’s more surprising is the instant, unquestioning way Lance has come to my aid.
“And I can help you. I’m here to do that,” he says, his gaze steady and chin high, eliminating any possibility of sarcasm. He is here, despite the fact I’m a stranger to him.
I’ll never get over how different Crave & Cure is compared to Jizzabelle. Hell, not just Pete’s production company which, in hindsight, is of course incredibly toxic. But I’ve heard things about Finger Fun Films, Daddy’s House and Cumplex Studios. So many actors are being mistreated, stuffed with performance enhancing drugs, diet pills, shot up with injectable ED drugs—none of which they need in the first place. Health, safety and the well-being of the actors is not in the top ten priorities at those places. In truth, the only concern of most film companies is money. We’re their show dogs, their cattle to be branded and prodded then milked for all we’re worth until we’re cast out.
Crave is the opposite, and sometimes it’s hard to believe.
“It’s okay. I really think his ego will bruise and he’ll stop. Plus,” I say, smoothing my fingers down my hair, finding myself nervous being treated with this level of consideration. I’m not used to how it feels to have someone look at you and care about you and expect nothing in return. “I think a restraining order would only make things worse.”
Aug nods. “Okay. But let me know if he does anything else besides just call you.” His dark eyes are serious. “Scarlett, tell me.”
I nod reluctantly. “I would tell you, I promise.” It almost sounds like I believe it myself but in truth I hope I never have to ask for their help.
He tips his head to Lance. “Or Lance. I trust him, for whatever that’s worth to you.”
I caution a glance at Lance. He stands with a straight spine, lips in a line as he blinks at me. But his pulse. At the base of his throat, his pulse bobs, and before I face Aug again, I swear his color is a little… pinker than normal.
“It’s worth a lot.” I smile, still stroking my hair. “I can’t believe people like you exist.”
He smiles, tempering his sadness as another gift to me. This man is so kind yet brimming with a feeling of uncharted power. Lance is lucky. I think.
“You’re in your after. And good people exist in your after,” he says before leaving me with a shoulder squeeze.
I look at Lance who surprisingly hasn’t followed after Aug just yet. “I owe him more than I’ll ever be able to repay him.”
“Thrive. That’s the greatest way to repay him and also, the best revenge.” And with that, he goes, leaving behind a cloud of teakwood, sweet tobacco, and wisdom. Maxi edges over to me.
“Hey Luce. I’ll take your hoodie? Put it in your dressing room?” She smiles widely and it reminds me I’m about to film. I reach behind me and yank it off. Folding it, I pass it to her.
“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve come out in a robe. And it’s totally not your job to take my stuff. I’m sorry,” I repeat, feeling sweat slide down my back as I rise to my feet and step out of my yoga pants. “It’s been a long…”
“Day?” she offers sweetly, clutching my folded sweater to her chest like I’m Taylor Swift. Again, the people at Crave have this enthusiastic and bold energy. I can’t get over it.
And I was drug tested and so are they. It’s allnaturalcharm.
Shit’s crazy.
“More like years,” I say drily, shimmying into the outfit laid on my chair. I think it’s an— “Am I an ice skater?”
Maxi nods, her eyes gleaming as she takes in the glittery bodysuit. Ice blue ombre into snowy white, rhinestones and sequins sporadic throughout. Behind me, Alexa the hair stylist appears. She puts her hands on my shoulders, forcing me gently into my seat.
“You’re getting a bun. Give me five.”
