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“Tobes?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for this.”
“Sally is kind of useless. Sometimes people just need to level. Thank you for talking to me because now I feel we’re chill. We can do this.”
“I’m not going to beat you up.”
“You’re going to give it a bloody good go. I’m not fragile.”
“Neither am I.”
“We should really have practised it, but I think it’ll be better like this. Centre all that frustration in your stomach, then take it out on me. Come on. Let’s totally slay this.”
He shoved me backwards. Squaring up to me with his chest until I shoved back with mine.
“Bastard,” I whipped out.
“I fucking hate you, Powell. Every single one of your witnesses will have a bullet to the brain. The ball is always in my court. Whaddya gonna do?”
“Nothing if you keep putting on that stupid accent,” I snarled. He laughed. An evil, horrible laugh.
“I’m up for it. I’m a real dirty bastard, your worst nightmare, and now you finally have me where you need me—”
“Gentlemen, are you two all right?” Sally was finally off her phone.
Toby threw her a dry growl and dragged me back inside.
We took our positions. Waited as my clothes got brushed down.
I shrugged the tension out of my shoulders, stretched my neck. Stared at him as he pretended to chew gum and stuck up two fingers at me.
I would have laughed, but I was back in the zone.
“And Action!”
It felt different this time, my head right where I needed it to be, and Toby was right there with me, egging me on, puffing up his chest more than he’d done in rehearsal, spitting out his lines as I drawled mine back at him. And I did shove him. Hard. Because he was pissing me off. Well, he was pissing Powell off. Rodriguez was all his worst nightmares rolled into one, and I threw him across the room, swung at him. Hurt him, growled out my lines in anger as he fisted my shirt and threw me down onto the desk. Forced his lips onto mine as I kicked him in the balls. Not for real. That bit was in the script, and I landed my knee softly in his thigh as he bent over in pretend pain.
And there it was. That roaring anger. Frustration wasn’t even the start of it as I destroyed his shirt, the Velcro in my slacks doing its job as my naked arse was put on display.
Yet there was a tenderness to his kisses as I rolled on top of him, half expecting thecut!to come. His hands were rough against my skin, and I welcomed it because this wasn’t real. Nothing here mattered.
Yes, I was an actor, and yes, I was a bloody professional at this, but right here, right now, everything seemed to culminate in my head and things just became unbearable. Too much. The tears forming in my eyes were real as he turned me over and held me down, my chest flat against the wooden desk, his lips against my cheek as he whispered the familiar dialogue that I couldn’t even take in. His hips shoved against my naked arse, pretending he was inside me. Cass Powell didn’t want this. He’d not asked for this. This wasn’t right; it wasn’t what he wanted. I knew what the scene was supposed to achieve. Cass Powell getting off with his arch enemy. Another triumph for his traitorous dick.
Instead, my Cass Powell was bawling his eyes out as Rodriguez pretend-forced his dick into his arse. Toby was right on top of my back, pushing me down, holding my hands in place as the tabletop cut bruises into my thighs.
Gut-wrenching sobs tore from me.
“And, cut!”
Toby lifted me up. Turned me around and wrapped his arms around me. There were remains of trousers around my feet, and he smelled of make-up and sweat.
“Good job. Really good job,” he whispered against my cheek.
“Connor, Toby, fabulous work.” That was the director, cutting the deadly silence, which filled with an uncomfortable round of applause.
I was an actor, and this wasn’t real, but in a way, it was. I’d finally put something real into that arsehole Cass Powell, who deserved everything Rodriguez had given him. Now all I wanted was to go home and forget that any of this existed.
