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“I need it done now.” His stare is steady, as if daring me to challenge him further, but I don’t take the bait. I practically throw the vacuum back into the closet and snatch the broom, walking upstairs before he can make this task even more miserable.
He wasn’t wrong about it warming me up. I’m sweating bullets as I sweep aggressively, the bits of Mylar either sticking to the old carpet or jumping around with each brush of the broom bristles.
It takes me over an hour to clean around all three projectors, and my shift is almost over by the time I trudge downstairs, trying to tuck loose hair back into my disheveled braid.
Through the large lobby windows, the sun is just starting to set, the light fading to a dusky orange over the treetops. I sigh in relief when I don’t see Lincoln anywhere.
I walk into the back room where Fiona is already putting on her coat.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I nod. “Nothing a coffee or a shot of whisky won’t fix.”
“That was pretty brutal of him,” Fiona says. “You look like hell. Let me help.” She uses a gentle touch on my shoulders and turns me around, untying my hair. She runs her hands throughthe sweat-damp strands and quickly rebraids them, smoothing away any flyaways. “Much better.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling a bit more human again.
A throat clears behind us, and I look over to see Trey and Lincoln standing in the doorway. Lincoln’s lips are pinched as though he wants to say something. I’m hoping an apology is about to fall from his stupid mouth, but I’m not holding my breath. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I sigh in frustration, put on my coat, and grab my purse.
My first day was draining and humiliating, and I feel so defeated. The fact that I was looking forward to working at the theater only magnifies that feeling. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I blink them away before anyone notices.
Fiona and I turn to head to the lobby, but I pause when Trey steps up to my side. His presence is instantly calming. I take a deep breath and look away, afraid he’ll see the vulnerability in my eyes, but Trey tips his finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. Something in my face makes his expression soften.
“Don’t feed into his bullshit, Charlie. Keep that fire. Lincoln wants to break you. Don’t let him,” he says quietly. My first name on his lips sends butterflies spiraling in my stomach, but his words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
I give him a skeptical look. “What’s your angle, Trey? Your best friend spent the better part of my shift bullying me, and you were completely complicit. Now you want to play the neutral party?” My tone reeks of resentment, but I can’t help feeling like Trey’s words are some sort of ploy to get in my pants.
I point at Lincoln, who’s been watching us with a neutral expression. “You two deserve each other.”
Fiona shuffles her feet to break the tension and nods to the door. I push past both of them, refusing to look at Lincoln.
“Sunshine?” Lincoln calls just as I’m stepping out into the cold.
I stiffen at the nickname and glare at him over my shoulder. “Yeah, boss?”
“Have a nice night.”
I resist the urge to flip him off.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHARLIE
I’m reluctantly waiting for Lincoln at a table in the coffee shop. Surprisingly, he agreed to meet so I could give him my screenplay draft since our class was canceled this week, but now I’m not completely sure he’s coming.
I glance at my phone.
Fifteen minutes late and no texts. Typical.
Just then, he strolls in, commanding the attention of every girl in the room.
I roll my eyes.
He looks like he just came from the gym, dressed in a hoodie and gray sweats, but despite his messy hair and casual appearance, he’s still unfairly hot, and I hate that I notice. He glances around before his gray eyes fall to where I sit at a table by the window. As he approaches, he pulls out a chair, its legs scraping the floor loudly, as if he isn’t drawing enough attention with his presence alone.
“Aren’t you going to order something?” I ask, irritated.
He smirks but doesn’t answer, instead unzipping his backpack and pulling out a piece of paper.
