She did? Well, I guess that made sense. The costumes for Sunday’s scene weren’t exactly complicated and didn’t need a whole lot of prep. Even still, my stomach sank at the prospect of not seeing her for an entire day.
Which was idiotic at best. I barely knew the girl. Friends. Frankly, I didn’t know if we could be friends… but I had to at least try to be friendly. For the sake of the film. For Lucy’s sake. For the sake of my raging case of blue balls.
And if I was being honest, I wanted to try to be her friend.
I just wasn’t sure I knew how.
Keep an eye out for Role Play’s release, coming soon!
Afterword
Thank you for reading Famously Bad! Keep an eye out for Emma and Pierce’s next installment, FAMOUSLY HERS, to see what happens during their week in Croatia!
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And if you’re looking for more celebrity romances within the Silhouette Studios series, turn the page for a sneak peek of CALLBACK…
I had a reputation and he had the solution.
I thought I was done with Hollywood.
Done with acting.
Done with scandal.
Done with all the lies this industry thrives on.
Then I met him…
Jude Fisher.
A man who knows what he wants. A man who doesn’t accept no and demands more from me than I know how to give.
It started out as a way to prepare for the role of a lifetime. But as it gets closer and closer to the audition, I don’t want our scenes to end.
He makes me want him when I thought I had built an impenetrable wall around my heart. He makes me trust him when I thought there was no one left in our industry to trust.
But it’s all just an act … right?
It’s all just for the callback.
"Master Jude will leave you breathless.”—Stacey Kennedy, USA Today Bestselling Author
"CALLBACK is deliciously sexy, but more—it’s a BDSM relationship done right. Fabulously crafted from start to finish, the chemistry between this couple crackles and sparks. Guaranteed to singe your e-reader." - Nikki Sloane, USA Today Bestselling Author
1
Marly
“When my career goes to shit, under no circumstances are you to allow me to go on a reality show. Got that? No Celebrity Survivor or sad MTV seasons about how far I’ve fallen.”
The other end of the phone line was heavy with silence. I could practically hear the grinding gears in my agent’s brain.
I waited, gripping the steering wheel with blanching knuckles. I was good at this game. Good at silence. Good at waiting. I smirked, holding the wheel steady and passed a slow driver in the middle lane. Eventually, Kyle said, “Marly, I think you’re over-reacting. Stop planning for doomsday when you haven’t even stepped into your audition yet.”
True. But planning was what I did. It was who I was. I flicked a glance to the spiral bound turquoise planner in the front seat beside me. My travel buddy. Without that planner, I was lost. I swallowed, the sight of it bringing bittersweet memories of my dad. “I hope for the best, but plan for the worst, Kyle,” I recited Dad’s words, ignoring that vicious, painful ache behind my ribcage and the gaping hole in my heart since his passing.
“Don’t I know it,” Kyle muttered. “You ever heard of self-fulfilling prophesies?”
“Having a plan isn’t going to cause a disaster.” I tossed a quick look over my shoulder before swerving into the next lane and slipping off the exit ramp. “Who am I meeting with again? It's not just some 'producer' with a camera in a rent-an-office, is it?”
An audition at Silhouette Studios should mean I’d be safe from that sort of audition. As one of the largest production houses in Los Angeles, it should mean that I was stepping into a professional audition, where nothing out of line was expected of me. This wasn’t some B-Movie audition with a greasy guy named Chet filming me on his cell phone. It was a top three studio. It should mean I could trust them.
But I know better. It only takes one burn from a candle to be wary of all fire. And sometimes, the more powerful the person, the more they don’t believe the rules apply to them.
“No, no. Today is the real deal. You'll be meeting with the casting director—Nicole Stevens of Stevens Casting. Probably a couple of producers, the director. There’s nothing to be wary of with this one. Trust me, you’ll see.”
“You can’t trust everything you see—even salt looks like sugar.” Another Dadism.
Kyle sighed again. He was the king of sighs. “But Marly, you should know—”
“Let me guess ... the producer expects a blow job under his desk in exchange for the part? Don’t worry, I have a plan for that, too. And it involves my foot being lodged so far up someone’s ass, I could file my toenails on their tonsils.”
Kyle grunted. “Jesus, Marly. Graphic much?”
I sneered. It should be a ludicrous statement. It should be such a ridiculous notion for a proposition like that to happen at a huge Hollywood production studio … except that it had happened to me already. Twice.
Shame and guilt burned hot in my stomach and my grip on the wheel tightened. What the fuck did I have to feel guilty about? I had done the right thing. I refused him, shoving his hand away from beneath my skirt and walking out of that audition. Without the part. Without the callback. But with my dignity. Even with being a well-recognized face in this town, it still wasn't enough to halt the advances. To sway the rumors. Maybe it wasn’t happening despite my well-recognized face, but because of it.
From the other end of the phone, Kyle sighed again. “Do you really think I would knowingly send you into an audition where they expect sexual favors?”
I opened my mouth to answer—of course not—and yet, nothing came out. My throat felt tight, my skin hot and prickly and my ears flushed in the way they always did when I lied. Kyle was a good agent. I liked him. He had always had my back in the years we’d been working together. I did trust him … to an extent. So why couldn’t I just say that?
My silence earned me another sigh. “Thing is,” Kyle said, “you don’t have to trust them. But you do have to trust me. And those propositions should stop now that you and Omar went public with your engagement.”
I smiled while cutting across three more lanes of traffic to take the next left. Omar Blake. My best friend and “fiancé,” according to US Magazine's latest report. Our plan had worked perfectly. Omar needed a beard and I needed directors to stop thinking I would use my vagina as some sort of magical ticket into Hollywood. “That's true,” I replied. “Nothing's happened since we announced our engagement.” The diamond on my ring finger caught a gleam of the Los Angeles sunlight, nearly blinding me. My mother’s ring. Once more, my heart squeezed with memories so faded, that I almost couldn’t call them memories anymore. “Then again,” I sighed, “I also haven't gotten any parts since the announcement, either.” Omar, on the other hand, was in the final stages of callbacks for a huge franchise movie deal. At least six movies contracted and potentially more within the franchise. He needed that deal. Especially after he’d spent most of his savings to stop his jackass ex-boyfriend from outing him to the press.
“Well, this audition could change that. It's a great role—buzz around town is that it has Oscar potential.”
The yellow light in front of me changed to red and I slammed my foot onto the brakes, screeching to a stop. Damn—that came out of nowhere. Butterflies fluttered around my belly at the thought of being in a film well-regarded by the Academy. I loved my romantic comedies, but I wanted—no needed to show people the kind of chops I had. Back in my college days, I had played Antigone and Lady Macbeth. I had brought audiences to tears with my parts in the Laramie Project. I swallowed, turning into the Silhouette Studios lot, easing off the gas as I approached the guard. “Hold that thought, Kyle,” I said into the ear piece, then leaned out the window. “Marlena Taylor,” I said to
the guard. “Here for my meeting with Stevens Casting.”
“Yes, Ms. Taylor.” He scanned a list on a clipboard in his hands before he pointed beyond the first few buildings in front of us. “Studio Eight. You're gonna go straight and take a right at the water tower, follow that road down to the end.”
“Thank you.”
“Marly,” Kyle pulled me back into the conversation. “As I was saying, you know the film's about Dominant/submissive lifestyles, of course—in the same vein as Secretary. But it requires nudity. Lots of it.”
I rolled my eyes. “That's fine, Kyle. I don't have a problem with tasteful nudity.”
“Full frontal?” He gulped on the other end of the line. “Look. I know it’s not my place. And as your agent, the last thing I should be doing is trying to talk you out of an audition. But as your friend, I have to say … maybe it's something you should think about considering the rumors Jack started—”
“Jack doesn't get that kind of power over me,” I snapped. Jack Seaver. The ass I gave my heart to while filming Bridesmaid Retreat. When I ended things with him, he smeared my name all through Hollywood with awful rumors that I'd offered sexual favors in exchange for my leading role in his movie. And Los Angeles, being the town it is, believed him. “This isn't porn, Kyle. It's a film—an Oscar-worthy film. Nobody berates Julianne Moore or Jennifer Connelly for nude scenes.”
Kyle's voice wavered on the line. “I know you pretty well, Marly, and I don't think you'll be able to handle the backstabbing and whispers happening at Hollywood parties behind your back. I'm just worried for you, that's all.”
My inhalation was shaky at best and the single butterfly in my stomach was now in full flight. “I'll be fine, Kyle.” Catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, I realized I almost believed it myself. Leaning forward, I wiped beneath my eyes where the smoky eyeliner had smeared a touch too much, then pinched my shimmery cheeks. When I was done, I hardly recognized the woman behind the thick coating of makeup. Long, thick lashes blinked back at me in the rearview mirror.
And what if you aren’t fine? I squeezed my eyes shut, closing the proverbial curtain to my reflection. That little voice of doubt had been whispering for a week since I got the script for this audition.
What if I’m only auditioning for this role to step out in front of the rumors? Because maybe if I show my tits and ass on screen, directors and producers will stop asking to see them in person? I rolled my eyes in spite of myself, pulling into a parking space.
Yeah, because that’s how sex works. People see you in movies and stop fantasizing about fucking you. “This film is an amazing opportunity to show studios that I can do more than be a cute airhead on screen.”
“You’re right,” Kyle said, his voice shifting into something harder. Business-like. “It’s an amazing opportunity and you’re a talented actress. Show them your vulnerable side. Just keep your nose clean in there. No sarcastic jokes, no flirting. Nothing. Keep it kosher.”
I nodded, looking up at the tallest building in the lot. My butterfly-filled stomach flipped and a chill ran down my spine, despite LA's latest heat wave. Oh, God, keep it together.
My nerves bounced as the reality of the upcoming audition hit me. I inhaled, taking the dry, warm air into my lungs and exhaled it slowly.
“Marly?” Kyle prodded.
“I'm nodding,” I said. Then, with another deep breath, I turned the car off. “All right, Kyle. I have to go or I'll be late.”
The car locked with a beep and my heart fluttered as I entered through heavy glass doors with my planner tucked safely under my arm. “Stevens Casting?” I asked a young, beautiful woman sitting at the front desk and took note of her perfectly applied makeup and smooth golden hair. Aspiring actress perhaps? Hoping to get auditions through entry level work, most likely. I ran a hand through my own glossy locks, pulling all my red hair over to one shoulder.
The girl pointed to the end of the hall. “Third door on the left,” she said, smacking her gum and flipping the page of a magazine.
As I walked down the hall, anxiety jumped low within my belly … worse than the damn butterfly. So much worse. Slowly, the walls seemed to be encroaching, closing in around me. I fell against the wall, my back pressed against the cool paneling and took a deep breath, glancing at my phone. My stomach lurched and the time on the screen spun. I only had one minute to pull it together or be late going in.
My stomach was in my throat as the wave of nausea rushed over me. I doubled over, putting my head between my knees. You'd think after hundreds of auditions, I'd be used to the nerves. And yet, here I was, bent over, nauseated with anxiety. The same ritual as always. After a few deep breaths, I opened my eyes. My knees trembled within my dark wash jeans and I swallowed the little bit of bile that rose in my throat with a hiccup.
On a final deep breath, I pushed off the wall, making the move to enter the audition. Only that same cleansing breath caught in my throat when I lifted my gaze to find the famous Jude Fisher, American heartthrob and two-time Oscar winner, standing in front of me. Wow, he was magnificent. Everything from the top of his sandy brown hair, down his muscled physique, to his European loafer-covered toes.
I inhaled once more, only this time I was met with his cool, spicy scent. A scent with hints of sandalwood and pine. Whatever that cologne was, it was fresh and clean and so made for this man, that the manufacturers should call it Eau du Jude Fisher. That smell sent tingles spiraling down my arms, along with his intensely heated gaze, directed right at me.
He raised an eyebrow. His gaze flared within my already heated body and inside my peep toe heels, my toes curled in a motion that was so completely out of my control, I hadn't even realized I was doing it.
My spine stiffened and I pulled myself to a standing position, a little too quickly. Stars flooded my vision. I cleared my throat, forcing my body not to sway with the dizziness as I distracted myself with smoothing my blazer. A ping came from my cell phone—the alarm signaling that I should be standing inside that audition room right this second. Shit, I was officially late.
“You okay?” Jude asked, resting a hand to my elbow. The gentleness of his touch startled me more than the action itself. There was a power in its tenderness; a strength behind the gentle curve of his fingers. Despite the soft touch of his hand, his gaze was hard.
I smiled, though it felt shaky, like my knees. “I'm fine—I just ... um ...” I pointed to the door. “I'm due in there for an audition.” Was that me speaking? My usual raspy, low voice had been replaced with a squeaking mouse.
He flicked a glance over his shoulder toward the fridge in the common area. “I was getting some water—let me get you one,” it was a command, rather than a question. “They can wait a moment.” Thick lashes framed green eyes. Not dark like emeralds, but fair, like a light jade color that was so unique, I found myself entranced by his gaze.
My throat was suddenly lined with cotton and I nodded, managing to rasp, “That would be great, thank you.”
Those eyes assessed me for only a moment longer. I glanced away, busying myself with the false act of flipping through my planner. His gaze cut to the book in my hands, then back to my face. I could feel his stare, as sure as if it was his fingers brushing over my flesh. Finally, he stalked to the refrigerator and grabbed two bottles from the bottom shelf. Twisting the cap, he handed the first to me. “Drink,” he said quietly. “Have a seat if you need to.”
I took a sip and as the cool water glided down my throat, I kept my eyes fastened on Jude. Dang, he was gorgeous. The top button of his crisp shirt was undone and the slightest bit of chest hair curled at the base of his throat. Once I swallowed, I gave him another smile, this time a little more confident. “Sorry about that,” I said. “I-I get nervous right before walking into an audition.”
He nodded, taking a swig of his water as well, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
When he said nothing more, the uncomfortable silence itched across my skin like an outbreak o
f chicken pox. “It never matters how prepared I am, either. I’ve spent the last week on FetLife prepping for this role; researching and joining chatrooms. Hell, I even watched BDSM porn. Preparation doesn’t stop the nerves. I've tried everything to calm myself before an audition—meditation, Alexander theory, a glass of wine. I even tried peeing right before. Nothing helps.” Oh, God, did I really just tell Jude freaking Fisher that I watch porn and pee before an audition to calm my nerves? Why was I still talking? Shut up, shut up, shut up ...
His amused smirk tugged higher. “Feel better now?”
Before I could answer, a small group of tourists walked by, phones up, snapping photos and video as the guide gestured to the closed doors. “This is where we hold many of our auditions …”
Jude sucked a breath so sharp, his chest inflated with it. He spun, facing away from the crowd, dipping his head back into the refrigerator. But it was too late. An older woman pointed beside me to where Jude stood with his back to everyone. “Is that Ju—?”
“That’s right!” I said, stepping in front of him. “Marlena Taylor here.” I don’t know why I did that. Why I jumped in to spare him the studio tour. Behind me, I heard the slow, relieved release of his breath. And something in that small sound ignited a fire low in my belly. Warmth spread from my core, stretching out around my torso and limbs and coiling around my spine. He had helped me moments ago and it was my turn to repay the favor. A small part of me delighted in it; delighted in helping him; in pleasing him. And that hit of pleasure was like an adrenaline shot to my veins.
“Come on,” I said, waving the small group of five over to me. “Let’s get a selfie!”
I hugged the crowd of smiling, laughing people into me. “One, two, three!” The snaps of their phones were comically loud.
With another wave, the tour guide shuffled the group back down the hall.
Famously Bad: (A Movie Star Romance Novella) Page 5