by Elle Rush
Chris evidently thought so. He mock-grabbed her from Nick, mugging for the camera. He dipped her and growled at his co-star like a possessive beast. Sydney laughed. She loved it. His hand supported her at her waist and slid up. He hesitated when he got to her bra strap. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help but stiffen when his fingers trailed the edge of her scars.
Behind her, Martine coughed once. Sydney twisted her neck and saw her shaking her head at Chris. Sydney looked back at him and felt her heart drop at the scowl he was wearing. Chris pulled his hand away and stood her back up.
“Sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She knew exactly why he stopped at her shoulder. At least she’d missed whatever his initial reaction had been before he morphed it into a frown.
The others burst out laughing when Chris threatened his television son with a well-placed thunder bolt. Then his attention, but not his hand, was back on her. “Why are you still in your dress?” he asked.
“What?” Cost be damned, Sydney caught him by the front of the shirt and pulled him down until his ear was at her mouth. “Terms of service,” she whispered.
He laughed. “No, no, no!” He laughed in an echo of their conversation this morning. He looked at Benny, and another photographer who had joined the group, and explained, “They’re waiting to do a quick fitting over in wardrobe. You’re getting the whole Olympus experience.”
“What?”
“You get to have your own toga!” he said with a grin.
Sydney froze. “No thank you,” she declined firmly. It was a lot more polite than the “No way in hell!” she wanted to scream.
Chris grabbed her wrist. “Come on, it’ll be fun to go Greek.”
She yanked her hand out of his grasp. “No. I don’t wear things like that. Ever.” Sydney took two steps back and stared him down. She recognized how shrill she sounded, but she didn’t care.
“You’ve worn more revealing things than that before,” a feminine, lyrical voice said from behind Chris. A small woman with a thick black braid of hair that fell to her waist linked her arm through Chris’.
“Sydney, I’d like to present—”
“We’ve met,” Sydney interrupted.
Of all the film lots in all of Los Angeles, Layla Andrews had to walk onto this one while Sydney was there. They’d met a few times actually. Most recently it had been when Sydney had given her victim impact statement at Layla’s sentencing after the woman had put Sydney in the hospital. The actress had gotten off with probation and a seal on the case prohibiting anyone from discussing the details of it. Like the fact Layla had been intoxicated at the accident scene.
“I didn’t think you’d volunteer for this,” Sydney commented through gritted teeth.
“I didn’t.” Layla’s polite response was even more forced than Sydney’s comment. Good. Make her squirm. The actress who played Hera, Zeus’ wife, continued, “I’m required to do a number of public relations events, and this is one of them. Believe me, I’d rather be working the golf tournament next month.”
“Believe you?” The woman could claim to be on fire and Sydney would ask for verification from two independent sources. Layla’s story had changed every time she’d given a statement.
Layla turned her back to her and spoke directly to Chris and Martine. “I’ll meet you inside. I hope this doesn’t take too long.”
“That makes two of us,” Sydney muttered.
Chris and Martine had a whispered conversation while Sydney studied the tops of her sandals and waited for the embarrassed flush to cool from her cheeks. Even the sight of that woman put her blood pressure through the roof. There was no way she’d be able to get through the rest of this circus.
Chris held up his hands. “Martine’s going to talk to wardrobe, so no worries.” His eyes belied his words, but he kept his smile firmly fixed in place. “How about a tour of the set?”
Sydney tried to smile, although her face felt like it might crack a bit. “That sounds really cool.”
He held out his hand again, and this time she took it.
“Awesome! Let’s get this party started!”
Chapter 13
Robert Clancy liked him. For the role, liked him. The super-producer hadn’t said so in so many words, but he’d complimented him on his day with Sydney so far and told Chris that the photos of the two of them showed the type of attitude his leading man would need. It was practically a yes. All Chris needed to do now was show him a little more to push him over the edge.
Nick told him it had taken some doing, some bribing, and some threatening, but Layla was on set. In fact, he said the actress had pitched a fit of epic proportions when Martine had volunteered her to make the trip to the beach with Sydney. Apparently contract appearance clauses had been invoked. Chris wasn’t sorry he’d missed it. His TV wife’s everyday drama was hard enough to stomach; he didn’t want to deal with it off-set as well.
The fourth cast member who’d be tagging along on their field trip was Eros, which was a great choice. Sean Glenn played the god of love and attracted women as it if were true. The towering redhead’s Monday morning play-by-play of the weekend starlets he’d bedded were legendary among the male cast and crew. So long as he kept his distance from Sydney, Chris was happy to have him along. He’d bring in a shitload of cash.
Martine had also managed to scrounge up the actors that played Aphrodite, Apollo, and Artemis for pictures. They’d be in costume, even if the guest of honor wouldn’t be. Chris had no idea what was going on with Sydney and the toga. He thought it had been a great idea, although he’d been shocked to hear how it came about. Something must have happened between Martine’s announcement and their arrival on set because Layla’s-sister-slash-his-inept-assistant had told him Layla was the one who’d arranged the surprise. He wanted to ask Sydney what the deal was, but he didn’t want to offend her after witnessing her reaction to the proposal. Maybe the fact he hadn’t seen any cleavage wasn’t karma working against him. Maybe she was modest.
He didn’t have time to figure it out now. It was picture time. They arranged themselves in Zeus’ great hall because it was the most impressive set they had that wasn’t hot. The thrones and banquet table were all decked out, and the actors cracked wise as they hung out and posed for the cameras. They were having a great time, but Sydney looked like someone had shoved a stick up her ass. She wasn’t relaxing or enjoying the shoot at all. She was trying hard, chatting everyone up and following the instructions of Benny and the other photographer. Something was very wrong with her. And she was killing his chances with the real kingmaker who was watching from the wings.
Benny had insisted the first few photos be of just the two of them. Then Chris called his castmates over and let them have their time with the lady of the hour. She flashed him a couple puzzled looks as he gradually got bumped farther and farther down the line from her but never said a word.
The intern was in heaven. Benny ordered the stars around and called shots like he knew what he was doing. They took it good-naturedly, and Sydney didn’t know any differently. Right up to the point when Sean and Nick didn’t move fast enough for him and Benny mouthed off to Martine. “The talent looks good, but they’re not much for direction, are they?”
Martine excused the two of them and steered Benny outside for a chat. Benny was lucky she got to him first. Actors were a touchy bunch, and they all had their own temper triggers. A near universal one was referring to actors as “the talent”. Especially to their faces. Benny wouldn’t be doing that again. Ever.
The kid came back subdued but not scared off. He gave another set of instructions, much more politely than the last set, and patiently waited for the actors to catch up. During the break when they were rearranging themselves once again, he heard Sydney’s breath hitch. “Wait a minute, everyone. Can you give me and Sydney a minute?”
Layla wasn’t impressed at the delay, but the rest of them flocked to the craft services
area. “Save Sydney some cake!” he yelled after them. Chris waited until Nick acknowledged him before he turned his full attention onto his mistress.
“What’s up, Sydney?” he asked her quietly. It wasn’t an accusation. He needed this to go better than it was going, but she’d distanced herself from him for some reason. She hadn’t held back all day, and the fact she was starting to now was worrisome. He hadn’t even done anything wrong this time. When Nick and Sean introduced themselves, he’d peeked through the window and rescued her from her star-struck state as soon as he could. This wasn’t star-struck. This was different.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” was her immediate response.
“Do you want to try that again?”
“No.”
She was a little better now that they were mostly alone.
“Sydney, what’s wrong?”
“You’re looking at me funny,” she told him.
“No, I’m not.” He was looking at her, but there was absolutely nothing funny about it. “You’re awfully tense,” he continued.
“I’m doing the best I can,” she whispered. “I’m out of my element, and I can’t find my footing. You, I could handle. And I was the boss so you couldn’t say anything, anyway. Nick Thurston and Sean Glenn I would have eventually gotten over. But this is…” She waved her hand. “I thought it would just be Benny, and that was bad enough. But there’s that other guy, and so many pictures. I feel like I’m some kind of freak.”
“You don’t look like some kind of freak. You look…” Edible was how he wanted to end that sentence. If it were just the two of them, he might have risked it, but he couldn’t chance it with everyone on the set. Sure, the terms of service agreement meant she couldn’t come on to him, but the document was meant to be reciprocal. They’d agreed to set it aside, but here was not the place. Chris wished for the umpteenth time that day that he’d met Sydney anywhere else—anywhere he got to be himself. Not at an industry event. Maybe at his sister’s birthday party, where he was just a guy who happened to be famous, not someplace where he had to be a celebrity. “You look like gods should be worshiping you.”
She smiled, and her shoulders came down a fraction of an inch. “Thanks. Now can you make everyone quit staring at me?”
“They like you. A lot of times guests on set make things awkward. You’re polite, and they appreciate it.” They did. Sydney was the cute kind of star-struck. It was better than the I’m-an-actor-too-can-you-introduce-me-to-your-agent kind. In the two seasons they’d been filming, they’d also had the creepy kind of star-struck where the actors would be followed around the set and the stalker ignored all concept of personal space and privacy. That kind was the worst.
“They don’t all like me,” she corrected.
“Who doesn't?”
“Layla.”
“Layla is a little temperamental, but she’s a professional. Did she say something?”
“I’ve got twenty bucks that says the toga idea was hers.”
Nasty Sydney was new. She was also right. “She comes off a little cool but…”
“Don’t try to blow smoke up my ass. Layla’s a stone-cold bitch. Hence the toga.”
He couldn’t argue that assessment, especially if Sydney had actually met her before today. She was right—Layla was a piece of work. The two of them had shown great chemistry at their joint audition, but right after the contracts had been signed, the actress’ personality had taken a hundred-and-eighty degree turn into darkness. Nobody on set liked her because although she was always professional, she still managed to be a bigger pain in the ass than the rest of the cast combined. The dislike was mutual; Layla was never invited to non-production events since nobody wanted her around. The cast and crew suffered through her presence only because there was nothing they could do but bribe the writers to kill off her character, and with her fan base that was never going to happen.
That also explained Layla’s unexpected generous wardrobe offer. It had been a setup, one obviously designed to upset Sydney. He didn’t know the mechanics of the insult, but it had worked. Sydney was definitely upset. He couldn’t do anything about it now, but fortunately he had the rest of the season to make her pay, and Nick would be more than willing to help him.
Over her shoulder, Chris saw Nick herding the actors back toward the set. “We’ll keep her away from you. Aside from Layla, is there anything I can do for you?”
“Thanks. I think I’m okay now. All I needed was a minute to find my balance. Just don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
“Okay. Are you hungry? We have cake,” he said, raising his voice. “Or at least we did. Did you vultures leave our guest of honor any?”
“It was a battle, but I saved her a corner piece. Extra icing,” Nick assured him as they resumed their places.
“Do you want me to get it for you?”
Her smile was back when she replied, “You want to let me eat cake? Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for you to peel me a grape?”
Chris had no comeback to that. How could he defend himself against Marie Antoinette and Cleopatra in one shot when he’d given her the perfect setup?
“Now,” she continued, tapping her foot in exaggerated impatience.
Chris heard something crash behind him. He turned to see that Sean had missed his seat at the banquet table and was laughing his ass off on the floor. Two of the goddesses were a different shade of red as they tried to fight back laughter until they lost it; Layla wore her usual frown. Chris was happy to see his best friend wasn’t laughing at him. Poor Nick was as stunned as he was at the quip. Even Martine on the sidelines was in stitches.
Then he clued into Benny’s shouts in the background. “Hold it! Hold it!” the photographer shouted as he recorded the scene for posterity.
Chris let the photographer have his fun for a few more shots before he bowed at Sydney. “As my mistress wishes.” He took the long route to the table. The one that passed by Robert Clancy.
As he’d hoped, the producer snagged him. “That was nice work, Chris.”
“Thanks.”
“Walk me to my car. I’d like to talk to you about something,” the man said.
Chris waved at Nick. He pointed at Clancy, then at Sydney, who was attempting to help Sean to his feet. Nick frowned and pointed to his watch. Chris flashed him both hands—ten minutes. Nick frowned again and nodded.
Chris jumped a couple of steps to catch up with the producer. Karma was about to pay off.
Chapter 14
Sydney’s stomach rumbled. It had been a long time since her cranberry scone and the piece of cake at her grandmother’s hadn’t been more than a couple bites. Martine and Nick had dragged her over to a table in the corner stacked with Olympus swag: signed photos, memorabilia, and a couple copies of the show’s first season on DVD. Sydney beamed at the PR woman. “This is so great. Thank you!” There was enough stuff for a couple of prize baskets for the benefit this afternoon; it could sell thousands of dollars’ worth of extra tickets.
“Chris said it was for a charity? Can you tell me a bit about it?” Martine prompted. She had her phone in her hand with a recording app visible on the screen. Sydney recognized a sound bite opportunity when she saw one. She waited for Martine to give her a go-ahead nod, and she began.
“Curse the Darkness is a charity that helps burn victims get reconstructive surgery. Our biggest annual fundraising events are happening today. This afternoon we are wrapping up our volleyball tournament at Manhattan Beach starting at three o’clock. People and companies have been sponsoring the teams for the last six weeks. We are having the championship match and a silent auction, which is now going to have an awesome Olympus prize. Then tonight is Curse the Darkness’ gala, with more raffles, and another Olympus prize, then a bachelor and bachelorette auction.” That sounded pretty professional. It was a good thing she and Ashleigh and the rest of the crew had polished and practiced a publicity blurb before the sake the night before. At best they’d hoped they might be
able to get some radio play on a small station. “Is this going up on your website?” Sydney asked hopefully.
“Yes. We’ll pop it up on our social media sites too. It’s short and sweet.”
“That would be amazing. Thank you.”
Martine leaned in. “Thank you. I hadn’t considered tying this into a charity event. You letting us ride your coattails makes us look good.”
Sydney’s stomach rumbled again, this time loud enough to draw attention.
“Wasn’t Chris bringing you some cake?”
“I thought so.” He’d vanished on her. Again. At least this time she knew why. He'd touched her back, and he knew which charity she was promoting today. Add in with her panic attack at the thought of wearing a toga, and he had a clear picture. Chris wasn’t stupid. She could come up with a dozen reasons why a drop-dead gorgeous movie star wouldn’t want to be seen anywhere near her. It hurt, but she wasn’t surprised.
Sydney shook it off. It wasn’t her fault he was an ass and was proving it to the world. “Would it be okay if I had a piece? It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten and will be even longer until supper.” The snack table—craft services table, he’d called it—was loaded with sandwiches and cans of soda.
“Absolutely.”
It was tricky to eat and still be able to answer questions from Martine and Nick. Martine’s were professional. Nick wanted the dirt on what she’d made Chris do as her slave. Sydney dished a little but held back any mention of the melon incident. Chris may not worry about karma, but she did. She did go into excruciating detail about Chris almost landing on his ass to get away from the pooper scooper. Sydney didn’t even mind Benny popping in and out of view as her hands flew to illustrate the story.
She was actually having a good chat with them when her watch beeped. She checked it, and then double-checked the time on her phone. It was five minutes to two. Already. “Thank you so much for everything. The baskets are incredibly generous. I can’t believe it’s time to go. Do you have a place I can get changed?”