Revenge Forsaken

by Chloe Fischer

  Didn’t I say the same thing to him last night? Maybe there’s more to both of our stories than either of us bargained for.

  “Hurry up and get ready,” he barked, chugging his coffee in one swig. “We’re leaving in fifteen.”

  “Remy, I—”

  “Just be ready.”

  He flew from the room like he was trying to avoid any potential words meeting his ears. Olive groaned to herself and sank onto a stool, shaking her head.

  It was going to be a long-ass two weeks.

  From the minute they walked into the shop on Woodward Avenue, Olive could feel the animosity oozing from some of the other artists toward her.

  Angus was a huge man, easily seven feet tall and covered from forehead to every visible piece of skin in tattoos and piercings. Olive couldn’t be sure he was even a white man but with a name like Angus and the intense blue of his skeptical gaze, she was fairly sure he was.

  Jillian, a more friendly pixie-sized redhead who seemed more bemused than angry by her presence, clung to Olive instantly.

  “Olive. That’s an interesting name. Short for Olivia?”

  “No,” Olive replied. “Just Olive. Like the fruit.”

  Jillian’s clear eyes darkened slightly.

  “Olives aren’t fruits,” she said haughtily and Olive opened her mouth to get into another debate on the classification of the food but she thought better of it when she caught Remy’s steadfast stare.

  “What?” she demanded in exasperation.

  “I thought I told you to wait in the office.”

  She ground her teeth and spun toward the closet-sized room with the window that was barely big enough to look out at the action happening with the camera crews.

  “You know how to answer phones?” Jillian asked and Olive stared at her with a deadpan expression.

  “Are they space phones?”

  Jillian’s brow furrowed.

  “Space phones? I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Exactly ... I’ll be just fine.”

  She closed the door, locking herself inside the too-cramped office and reluctantly sat on the swivel chair with a sigh.

  She’d been excited about being part of the show and knowing that she was banished from the production in any form was disappointing to say the least.

  The phone rang and it took her a second to remember she was responsible for answering it.

  “Remington’s,” she breathed into the mouthpiece.

  “Hi, are you guys filming today?”

  She paused, unsure of how to answer that. Was it secret when they were doing scenes?

  “I-I don’t know,” she stuttered. “M-maybe.”

  “Maybe?” the irate girl echoed. “Are there cameras there or not?”

  Olive scowled.

  “Who is this?” she demanded.

  “Who is this?” the woman snapped back.

  “I’m new here,” Olive explained, checking her temper. It wouldn’t be a good idea to fly off the handle on her first day, she was sure. Remy already hated her.

  “I can tell. Where’s Remy?”

  “He’s not available.”

  “Because he’s filming?”

  Olive gritted her teeth together with so much force, it was shocking they didn’t crack.

  “Can I take a message?”

  “Never mind,” the woman huffed. “I’ll come down there myself.”

  The phone clicked in Olive’s ear and she grunted, replacing the receiver on the cradle. Instantly, the phone rang again.

  “Remington’s.”

  “Jill?”

  “No…this is Olive.”

  “Oh hey! Are you new?”

  “I’m a temp.”

  “Cool, Can’t wait to see your stuff. Is Remy there?”

  “He’s busy. Can I take a message?”

  “No. You guys are filming today, right?”

  Jesus Christ. Is this the way it’s going to be all day?

  She looked at the clock and her eyes widened in amazement. It wasn’t even eight a.m. Who the hell were these people calling?

  “Yes,” she heard herself say. “We are.”

  “Great! I’ll be there soon.”

  The phone rang for a third time but Olive ignored it and made her way out into the studio, hoping to catch Remy’s attention for a minute so she could ask what she was supposed to be saying to the clients when they called.

  “You really shouldn’t be out of the office,” Angus growled at her, giving her a scathing look which sent chills through her body.

  “I just wanted to ask Remy something before he got too busy.”

  “Too late,” Angus grunted, nodding toward the office where Olive could hear the phone ringing. “The phones aren’t going to answer themselves.”

  “People keep calling and asking if you’re filming today. What am I supposed to tell them?”

  Angus frowned so deeply, he almost looked like a demon sent from the depth of hell.

  Holy shit, he’s terrifying. Remy should just bring this guy with him everywhere he goes. No one will ever try to scam him for money again.

  “What have you been telling them?” Angus demanded, his voice a strangled growl.

  “Nothing!” Olive squeaked. “I-I mean, I don’t know what to tell them.”

  “You’re kinda useless, huh?” Angus sneered, advancing on her, his huge form towering over her. Anger barely overcame her fear. Who the hell did this guy think he was, looming over her like that?

  Before she could tell him to back off, Remy’s voice shot out between them.

  “Angus, don’t you have something to do?”

  The obscenely large man looked away and shuffled off as Remy joined her side.

  “What was that about?” he barked. “Why was he in your face?”

  “No idea,” Olive replied with more nonchalance than she felt. “I only came looking for you and he kind of pounced.”

  Concern crossed Remy’s smoky eyes.

  “You okay?”

  Do you really care or are you worried about sending me back damaged to my father?

  Yet she couldn’t deny she saw sincere worry in his face as he met her eyes.

  “I’m fine,” she replied quickly. “See? No scars.”

  “Angus can be…intense,” Remy muttered. “He forgets that he’s the size of an ape. He’s harmless, I promise.”

  Didn’t seem too harmless a second ago.

  “Why are you out here? The phone is ringing off the hook,” Remy asked, regaining his usual demeanor.

  “I know it is!” she snapped. “That’s why I’m looking for you. Everyone wants to know if you’re filming and I have no idea what to tell them.”

  “Oh you never, ever tell people when we’re filming or else everyone will come down, trying to get into the shots. You didn’t tell anyone we were, did you?”

  She swallowed and shook her head. There was nothing she could do about it now and it wasn’t her fault he hadn’t told her how to respond.

  “If anyone else calls, you just tell them we’re booked for the day and make an appointment for later in the week. Our filming days are blotted out so you can work around them. Okay?”

  He was almost genial but Olive wondered how long it would last. He could go from hot to cold in three seconds.

  “Okay,” she murmured. “Thanks.”

  “Remy, we’re about to start!” A lanky man with a hipster beard intoned. He eyed Olive warily.

  “She’s not your client, is she?”

  Olive bristled.

  So what if I am? Would I break the camera lens?

  Remy seemed just as annoyed by the question as she was.

  “You wish,” he retorted but he pointed at the office. “Olive, try to stay out of the way, please.”

  At least he said please. That’s a good sign. I think.

  She nodded, lowering her eyes and ambled back toward the little room but as she moved, she could see Remy watching her through his peripheral vis
ion.

  Inside the room, she sank back into the chair and watched the phone line light up again. She was contemplating ignoring the calls altogether but begrudgingly, she answered and did what she was told.

  It was really no different than what she’d done at Victor’s office except that she was dealing with normal people, not criminals and the betrayed.

  Between calls, she found herself looking wistfully out the window at the action happening beyond. To her surprise, she saw that Remy didn’t seem to be enjoying the shoot as much as she would have thought. He was so cocky both on screen and in person that Olive assumed he’d be eating up the attention but from what she could see, he was almost perturbed by the cameras in his face as he worked.

  “CUT!” the skinny hipster yelled and Remy sat back in frustration.

  “I was just getting into it!” he snapped. “Why did you cut?”

  “That’s the problem!” the director retorted. “You’re focussing too much on the work and not enough on the dialogue.”

  “If you don’t want this tattoo to look like ass, I suggest you let me put my attention into it.”

  The girl on the chair nodded in agreement.

  “I don’t want him to fuck it up,” she conceded.

  “We’ve talked about this, Remy. The audience wants to hear your voice. They want some action.”

  “Jesus Christ, Dave,” Remy muttered, his face flushing as he looked toward the other artists. “I can’t entertain and work at the same time. Something’s going to fail.”

  An unexpected pang of appreciation struck Olive as she watched him.

  He’s a genuine artist, not a showman.

  Not that she was entirely surprised. The work she’d seen in his apartment spoke for itself, but she had not thought that Remy would be so miserable being taped.

  “Jillian, Angus, let’s move to you and let Remy get back into the groove,” Dave suggested, perhaps reading the almost murderous look in his eyes.

  Remy’s jaw locked and he muttered something she couldn’t hear under his breath. Abruptly, his head jerked up and his eyes locked on hers as though he had felt Olive’s gaze upon him.

  “What?” he demanded and she quickly sat back down in the chair without answering.

  He’s certainly got the attitude of an artist, she thought, reaching for her cell phone. The ups and downs with him were going to drive her nuts.

  Her father answered just before the call went through to voicemail.

  “What do you want, Olive?”

  “Are you kidding?” she barked back. “I didn’t know I was going to be living with him.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Well now you know,” Victor replied sullenly. “Has he made a pass at you yet?”

  Humiliation flooded her.

  “Would you care if he had?”

  “Olive, you haven’t even been gone twenty-four hours and you’re already complaining. I suggest you pace yourself or you’ll be a nagging shrew in no time.”

  Her mouth gaped.

  “I’m doing you a favor,” she spat back. “Don’t forget that. I could leave any time and let Remy do whatever it is that you deserve to have done to you.”

  “And what will happen to your poor mother if something happens to me?” he cooed. “She would die if I wasn’t around and you know it.”

  “You’re a piece of shit,” Olive hissed.

  “Watch your mouth, girl. I still pay your paychecks.”

  Frustration and fury overwhelmed Olive as she once more considered storming from the shop and leaving the entire sordid situation behind but of course she didn’t.

  “I’m busy, Olive. Get back to work.”

  Victor let out a short, cruel laugh before disconnecting the call and it resonated in Olive’s head for the rest of the day.

  It was possibly the longest day of Olive’s life, her only salvation (if she could call it that) was when Jillian came to hand her a coffee around noon.

  “How much longer is this going to take?” Olive asked. “I’m getting claustrophobic in here.”

  Actually, Olive was losing her mind, watching the shoot from her hole but she didn’t even have enough space to pace around between the most irritating phone calls. Her nerves were raw as the afternoon arrived.

  “Oh,” Jillian chuckled. “Who knows?”

  The redhead eyed her curiously.

  “Who are you anyway?” Jillian asked bluntly. “I had no idea Remy was banging anyone.”

  Olive’s face flushed with indignation.

  “H-he’s not—I’m not…” She stopped, inhaling sharply to keep herself from stuttering. “I’m just here helping out temporarily.”

  “Uh huh,” Jillian snickered. “Sure.”

  Olive’s brow arched.

  “Why? Does Remy often bring his conquests in here?”

  She caught the note of jealousy in her voice before she could stop it but Jillian only snorted.

  “No. I’d say you’re the first. That’s why I’m wondering what makes you so special.”

  Jillian leaned closer.

  “You don’t even have a tat, do you?”

  Olive didn’t know why the question filled her with shame.

  “No,” she muttered. “Not yet. But I want to get one.”

  “Afraid of needles?” Jillian taunted and Olive tensed. Jillian was proving to be as difficult to read as her boss.

  Maybe that’s just the way they are—unpredictable.

  “I’m not afraid of much,” Olive retorted, unsure if Jillian was trying to antagonize her or if that was just her way.

  “Good. You’ll need a strong stomach if you want to keep working here.”

  I don’t want to keep working here.

  She couldn’t deny that being away from Victor and her mother was a relief, even under the cramped circumstances.

  There’s certainly better eye candy.

  In fact, there were quite a few beautiful people in the studio from the slender brunette who lay spread eagle in the chair, donning only a pair of shorts for an inner thigh tattoo to the too-handsome California surfer type without a shirt, getting his shoulder done.

  Outside the shop, despite the frigid temperatures, Olive saw a huge crowd surrounding the shop. She wondered how long it would take for them to leave.

  The entire experience was surreal and Olive wasn’t sure if she wanted in or out anymore.

  “Oops, Dave is giving me stink eye. I better get back out there,” Jillian commented. She paused.

  “Maybe you should talk to Remy about popping your cherry on camera.”

  “WHAT?!” Olive choked.

  “I mean your tattoo cherry,” Jillian snickered but Olive suspected she’d said it that way on purpose. “It might make for a good show. I mean, I imagine with a face like yours, the camera will like you.”

  Jillian exited, again leaving Olive wondering if she was being welcomed or rejected.

  And she couldn’t stop thinking about Remy popping her cherry.

  By the time the filming wrapped up, Olive was hungry and miserable.

  She could barely contain herself from bursting out of the office and into the studio to stretch her legs.

  “Are you done?” She asked when she found Remy who had opened the doors to his fans. “Can we go?”

  He blinked at her.

  “Not yet,” he replied, signing another autograph. “What’s your hurry? It’s not like you did anything all day.”

  She gaped at him in disbelief.

  “I was caged in a room all day!” she protested. “So forgive me if I’m a little anxious.”

  “Well, I’ve still got stuff to do.”

  He turned his back on her and focussed on the half dozen adoring women before him.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Olive demanded. Remy turned back, his celebrity smile fading slightly from his face.

  “If I’d known I’d have to babysit you, I wouldn’t have agreed to this,” he growled in a low voice. “Go make y
ourself useful.”

  She balked at his tone and folded her arms across her chest.

  “I can go home if you prefer.”

  His eyes locked on hers and she returned his gaze defiantly. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the arm and marched her back into the accursed office again, slamming the door behind him.

  “You are not a prisoner here,” he hissed at her, his eyes flashing. “Stop playing the victim and get the hell out if you want. I have enough going on without having to hold your hand.”

  “I’m not playing the victim!” she retorted furiously. “I’m tired and hungry and bored!”

  She loathed how borderline whiny her voice sounded but she was losing her mind after almost twelve hours in the store.

  He grimaced.

  “Imagine how I feel,” he barked back. “I’ve actually been doing something today.”

  He spun away but paused as something caught the corner of his eye. He spent a few moments looking at some distraction thoughtfully. Slowly, he raised his head and eyed her.

  “What?” Olive wanted to know. She felt like screaming in frustration.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, brushing past her. “I’m almost done. Think you can hang in there without making a scene?”

  “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I?” Olive snapped sarcastically.

  He didn’t answer but when he left, she turned her gaze toward where he had been looking and she blushed furiously.

  On the desk she had strewn dozens of sketches she’d doodled while trapped inside the room, answering phones when they rang, the only expectation put on her. Her boredom had gotten the best of her, in between calls, and she did the one thing that always worked as an escape from her reality - Drawing.

  He must think I’m an idiot, she thought, hurrying to gather them and toss them in the garbage. She’d forgotten about them but she knew how they must look to a renowned artist like Remy Anders.

  As she threw them out, she asked herself why she cared so much what he thought.

  But she didn’t give herself a chance to answer her own question in words. The heat in her body was response enough.

  8

  Remy was absolutely livid as he threw open the door to the condo, the handle slamming against the far wall as he burst through.