Breaking Free

by Cara Dee

  Fucking Christ, this had to stop.

  Chapter 8

  "Holy shit," Sophie whispered to herself the next morning.

  She'd just woken up by the sun filtering through the window, and she couldn’t stop thinking about last night.

  Rolling over, she pressed her face into the pillow and squealed. These days, Sophie was a bundle of confusion and doubts, but last night… She didn’t care about what her friends would think; last night had been epic.

  From the delicious milk shake and rolling around in wet paint to learning new things about Tennyson and sort of becoming friends with him.

  Sophie found it amazing that Tennyson and his brother rescued dogs from horrible conditions, and it made her want to know more, more, and more. After work today, she'd have to sit down and finally Google the man.

  And God, was he hot or what?

  She'd have to be careful with that realization, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy this showmance as long as it lasted. Even though it was unlikely she'd get to see him in only underwear again.

  She could always make use of the memory, though. Showerhead, here I come. He was like nothing she'd ever been drawn to before, which had been ripped bad boys and surfer dudes decked out in the latest fashions. Tennyson was so solid, had broad shoulders, some dark hair on his chest, and muscular thighs.

  Lastly, the night before had been fun.

  "Rise and shine, Sophie!" Daniel's voice boomed out in the trailer, startling her. "Are you decent?" He knocked on the door to her little bedroom.

  She managed a reply as she sat up in her bed and pulled a tank top on. "Yeah—come in."

  Daniel entered, carrying a stack of papers and a bag from a local deli. "Hey, Miss Artypants. You're the talk of Tinseltown today." Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he spread out printouts from all kinds of gossip sites and online magazines. "You're even featured on the front page of Variety's website."

  A month ago, Sophie would've been thrilled to hear that. There were some sites and rags that always gossiped about her, but Variety was a step up from those. They covered real stories, too. They had people working there who were actual journalists. With college degrees and everything.

  As it was, this piece of news sunk in with a hint of bitterness. To her, last night hadn't been fake. It had been more real than anything she'd done in a long time.

  "One fruit cup—no bananas, extra blueberries, no granola." Daniel held out the plastic cup for her, and she accepted it before he dug into the bag again. "Aaand one green tea." He set it on the nightstand.

  "Thank you," she said cheekily. Another piece of advice from Daniel had been "Be generous with saying please and thank you," and she was doing well. "There are no comments included here, right?" If there were, she wouldn’t be able to read any of it.

  Something softened in Daniel's gaze. "No, darling. No more comments."

  "Cool." Sophie dug out her birth control pills from her nightstand and chased one down with her tea. Then she scanned some of the gossip and chewed on a blueberry.

  "It looks like the romance between Tennyson Wright and Sophie Pierce is real, after all!" Sophie suppressed a sigh and read on. "The two showed up together at an art café to represent Vancouver when the charity project Safe, Wild, and Sound came to town. Sources say the director and the party girl were awfully chummy, and the photos don’t disagree this time!"

  She picked up the printout and looked at the photos of her and Tennyson. Unlike the shots from their first dinner where they looked angry—not counting the few where Tennyson fed Sophie—these were completely different. They were smiling, for one. And their interaction wasn’t forced.

  Glancing at another printout, Sophie read on when she saw it focused on Tennyson.

  "…so could Sophie be blowing some life into the reclusive Tennyson? We're all familiar with his masterpieces, but the director leads a quiet life when he's not working. We haven't really seen much of him since he broke it off with author Trisha Cummings, and…"

  "What does this Trisha woman write?" Sophie asked. It was the first time she'd heard of her, and she was curious. "How did they meet? Is she gorgeous?"

  "We've reached out to Tennyson's reps, but no comment yet." The rest of the article was about his movies and his brother's work with rescue dogs. There was even a photo of Tennyson and Asher, and Tennyson was sitting down and had his arm around an Amstaff with its ears covered in bandages.

  "Hmm, let's see…" Daniel was scrolling down on his phone. "They met when he was signed on to direct a film based on one of her thrillers. Here's a photo of the two of them."

  Sophie leaned over and something twisted in her stomach. The photo was taken at a red-carpet event, and Tennyson was all suited up, his arm around a lovely redhead. She was his age, and she only had eyes for him. Sophie couldn’t see Tennyson's eyes because he was wearing his shades, but he had a faint smile on his lips and his head was turned in her direction.

  "You can check more of this later, but you're due on set soon," Daniel told her. "Into the shower with you."

  Sophie sighed and left her bed, pausing when Daniel made a noise.

  "What?" she asked.

  "Why is your back red? Do you have a rash?"

  Oh. Heh. "No, I just had some paint to scrub off." She grinned to herself and disappeared into the bathroom.

  *

  By lunch, Sophie had managed to push aside her personal life. She'd been in a small scene with Chris, who'd dragged her down a hallway in what was supposed to be a college dorm. The next scene they were going to shoot took place right before Chris found her.

  Lunch was a little longer today so the art department could get the dorm room ready.

  Sitting at a picnic table outside with Claire, Noah, Brooklyn, and the two guys she'd be working with later, she went through her lines and shut out the world by listening to music. Her pink earbuds blared some old rock song that helped her get in the right mind-set. In fact, she had a whole playlist now that was titled "Anna," the character she was portraying.

  She'd gotten the idea for the playlist from Claire, who was often seen wearing headphones as she studied the script.

  "It's my birthday, Dad," she mouthed the line to herself and swiped up a carrot stick from her lunch tray. "Do you know what that means? For one…the day should be about me. And two…I'm eighteen now. You have no fucking say."

  Someone gently shook her shoulder, so she removed an earbud to see Brooklyn was trying to get her attention.

  "Time to touch up your makeup, honey," Brooklyn told her.

  "Got it." Sophie nodded and grabbed her water, following Brooklyn toward hair and makeup. As she passed the large entrance to the set, she saw Tennyson leaning against the metal sliding door. He was on the phone, but it looked like he was watching her. She couldn’t be sure, though. Damn shades. Damn ball cap.

  Had he gone to the University of Michigan or something?

  Taking her seat in the makeup trailer, she let Brooklyn work her magic. Sophie's hair was messy with hairspray, makeup was smeared under her eyes, and she had hickeys and needle marks on her arms. Timeline-wise, it was about two months after she'd last seen her sister outside her boyfriend's school, and everything had gone downhill for Sophie's character.

  "Hey, guys." Marcus, the model slash actor who was in the next scene, sat down in another chair, and one of Brooklyn's girls got started with him.

  Samuel followed soon, the second guy who'd be in the scene. He was an up-and-coming actor, and he'd gotten some good reviews in the few movies he'd starred in so far. He was in his mid-twenties, Sophie guessed, and she wondered why she wasn’t going nuts over him.

  Their shirts came off, and fake ink was applied.

  Yeah, Sophie should be all over that.

  "Mmhmm." Brooklyn raised a brow in the mirror, having caught Sophie staring. Only, Brooklyn got it wrong. "I'm with ya, girl."

  Not really. Sophie had gawked, wondering why the fuck she'd rather see someone stockier,
someone with chest hair, a beard hiding two dimples…blah.

  Head in the game, Sophie thought and closed her eyes. She was here to impress as an actress.

  *

  Some time later, Sophie stood with Steph—the second AD—in the middle of the staged dorm room getting ready for the scene. Tennyson was speaking to Noah and the single cameraman, and someone else was giving Samuel and Marcus instructions.

  "You know you can use an herbal cigarette, right?" Steph left a pack of Marlboro Lights on the nightstand.

  "It's fine." Sophie didn’t wanna tell Steph she'd smoked in the past. Or that it had been because smoking sometimes made it easier to lose weight.

  "Okay, everyone ready?" Tennyson asked, his gaze landing on Sophie.

  Sophie nodded and turned toward the bed. She'd done the G-rated version of sex scenes before, but this was a whole other ballpark, and it wasn’t even a real sex scene. However, all of her would be exposed, aside from a black thong.

  "Quiet on the set!" Noah yelled.

  Sophie handed her robe to Steph, who was the last to leave the set. Joining Samuel and Marcus on the bed, she positioned herself in the middle and rested her head on Samuel's chest.

  "You look good there," he whispered.

  She refrained from rolling her eyes, too focused on nailing the scene. Not him.

  Marcus scooted closer behind her and draped an arm over her.

  "Camera rolling!"

  The assistant with the clapboard announced the production, the scene, and the shot, and then Tennyson said action.

  Sophie stayed still for a few seconds before she let out a breath and stretched tiredly. As Marcus slid his hand up to cup her breast, she made a sleepy noise and lifted her head slowly, as if it were heavier than a truck.

  Blinking blearily, she rubbed her eyes and squinted at the alarm clock.

  "Too early," Samuel muttered drowsily and tried to pull her down again. She let him fondle her and kiss her neck, but she kept glancing over at the clock. "How about round three?" Samuel shifted her around until she was straddling him, his hands moving farther up her thighs.

  "I gotta get out of here," she said quietly, clearing her throat. "You go back to sleep."

  Marcus hummed and reached for her. "It's not the same thing to share a bed with this dude unless there's a girl between us."

  "Fuck off." Sophie batted away their hands and dragged her body out of bed. "You keep tellin' yourself that—that you didn’t join us last night 'cause you're hot for your roommate." She picked up the cigarettes, lighting one up. "Where's my…" She found her ratty T-shirt from last night and threw it on.

  "Dude…" Samuel raised a brow at Marcus.

  "She's trippin'," Marcus chuckled lazily.

  Sophie gave the guys a flat stare, not satisfied until the two guys settled down to catch more sleep.

  Taking a drag from the smoke, she eyed the small room and quirked up the corners of her mouth as she saw the guys' jeans. She made sure they weren't looking and then tiptoed over to clean out their wallets.

  "Cut!"

  Sophie straightened and waited for Tennyson's verdict. The scene wasn’t over just yet, so she was nervous she'd fucked up.

  "That was good." He came over and nodded shortly, and Sophie breathed a sigh of relief. "We'll take it from 'tripping.'" His gaze lingered, his brows furrowed, but of course Sophie couldn’t see his eyes. Then he shook his head quickly and turned to the cameraman. "I want the focus on her emptying the wallets. Bring it in for me. Oh, and Samuel?" He cocked a brow at Sophie's costar. "The mics pick up everything. That includes cheap pickup lines to an actress who's trying to work."

  There was an odd sense of satisfaction and gratitude that coursed through Sophie.

  "My bad." Samuel showed his palms.

  They ended up doing that part of the scene twice more because Sophie requested the last take. She felt she could do better, and Tennyson looked pleased with the result. Then they moved on. The acoustics weren't right for Chris's character to yell his daughter's name in the hallway outside the dorm, so it had been prerecorded.

  "Roll sound!" Noah shouted. "Roll camera!"

  Sophie got ready and bent over to pick up her discarded denim skirt.

  "Action."

  Sucking in a breath, Sophie yanked on her skirt hurriedly. She peeked over at the sleeping guys and shoved the crumpled bills she'd stolen into her pockets. Next, she froze when the sound of Chris's angry voice rang out.

  "Anna! Anna Miller!"

  Her head snapped up, and this had roused the men from their sleep.

  "Someone you know?" Samuel yawned.

  "It's…it's my dad," she mumbled. She opened the door and poked her head out.

  "And cut! That goes to print, Noah," Tennyson told him. "Is Chris ready?"

  Sophie accepted a bottle of water from an assistant and took a swig from it. Her mouth tasted like charcoal after smoking, but it was worth it. She felt incredibly good about her work today, and many of her insecurities were fading, albeit slowly.

  *

  That night, Sophie lay in bed, unable to sleep. She had wrapped early, but Tennyson had continued with the two scenes that led up to the one Sophie was dreading.

  It meant she hadn't spoken to him today outside of work, and something about that bothered her. Hell, even at one AM, he was probably still working.

  It had given Sophie time to practice lines and dig up all the info she could on one Tennyson Wright. But after the evening they shared last night, it made Sophie want more. More than just interaction between director and actress.

  She wanted to ask him about his career, about Trisha, about his childhood… According to his bio page on Wikipedia, he'd grown up in Oregon and then done his undergrad at the University of Michigan. His brother had joined him there only a year later. Their mother used to be a social worker, and their father a retired Marine and old firefighter.

  A normal working-class family, but the two sons had moved on to make big bucks in LA, Tennyson as a director and Asher as a producer. As Sophie had learned, they often took on projects together if Tennyson wasn’t producing, too.

  Ripping off her sleeping mask, Sophie sat up and reached for her phone in the dark. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning, and though she was too tired to delve into the whys and hows, one thing was clear.

  She wanted some friendly fucking contact with Tennyson, okay?

  She only had a dozen numbers in her new phone, so it didn’t take long to find Tennyson's. Then she reconsidered; calling him was stupid.

  Don’t assume everyone always has time for you, Daniel had said. Ask first.

  If Tennyson was working, she would respect that. Plus, she had a feeling she'd chicken out once she got past her greeting.

  A text was better, and she racked her brain for something that might lead to more responses. Something that wasn’t trivial, and she would skip text-speak.

  The rain, she typed. You asked me to tell you something real and genuine. When I was a kid and we stayed in New York, I loved when it rained. I still do, but I've stupidly claimed it's gross and that I wouldn’t ruin my shoes for puddle jumping. Goodnight. xoxo.

  She hesitated with the "xoxo," but in the end she pressed send.

  Chapter 9

  Only work got Tennyson through the next day. He focused intently on the scene where Claire's character and her friends got back to her house after brunch, but every time there was a break, Tennyson's mind went to Sophie.

  It bothered him greatly because he'd never had that issue before. Not with her, not with anybody else. Whenever he'd been in a relationship, work had still been easy to get lost in.

  She's going to drive me crazy, isn't she?

  Nothing explained why he'd woken up this morning, hard as a rock, and stroked himself off to the images of Sophie's lips wrapped around his cock.

  He'd almost freaked out, because his orgasm hadn't been okay despite fantasizing about a girl half his age. It had been fucking spectacular because,
for a brief moment, the age difference had turned him on.

  In a state between sleep and awareness, his imagination had taken advantage of a young, willing mouth, and his mind had been filled with filthy things he wanted to do to her.

  He wanted to punish her for affecting him.

  "Okay, we're ready for the two-shot when Chris comes in," Noah said.

  Tennyson gnashed his teeth together and got rid of his thoughts and then waited for everyone on the living room set to be on their marks. "Claire, we'll run it from when you come back with more wine."

  Claire and the four women who played her neighbors and friends got ready, and when the scene began, Tennyson's eyes were glued to the small screen in front of him.

  "It's been a while since I had this much wine," Claire laughed lightly, looking every bit of the housewife she wasn’t. "Especially this early in the day!" She sat down on the couch between two friends and set down the bottles she'd fetched from the kitchen. "Let's blame a long week, shall we?"

  They toasted to a calm weekend, and Claire drained half her glass.

  "I should've brought something stronger," one of the friends said. Tennyson nodded thoughtfully to himself; she didn’t overact. She was intoxicated but not three sheets to the wind. She was also putting on a brave face. "Jim's cheating on me."

  Tennyson made a motion for the camera assistant to bring it closer, and he heard the outrage and disbelief coming from the ladies, except Claire, whose expression he studied. There was a subtle tightening of the muscles around her eyes before Claire composed herself and turned to her friend.

  "What makes you think that?"

  Tennyson made an OK sign for Noah.

  The friend chuckled bitterly. "I got home early the other day, and I texted him—asked where he was. He replied and said he was at home. That goddamn bastard." She gripped her glass tightly and discreetly wiped her cheek. "That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Money's missing too, and I've caught him lying about other things."

  Tennyson signaled to Noah again, and they cued audio for Chris's car pulling up in the driveway.

  Claire's head snapped up, and she eyed the door while the other ladies were busy comforting the scorned wife.