Never Tied Down (The Never Duet Book 2)

by Anie Michaels

  Chapter Five

  Only Temporary

  Riot

  “You’re needed on set in five, Mr. Bentley.” Erin was an assistant assigned to our set. She always had a clipboard in her hand and a pencil behind her ear. And she almost always sounded like she was going to explode from stress. Even now, watching me walk away from our set, knowing I had only five minutes before we began shooting, she sounded like she wanted to strangle me.

  “I’ll be back in time. Promise.” I winked at her and laughed when she blushed but pretended to be frustrated. She was young, still in college I believed, and she was definitely inexperienced in the business. None of that affected her ability to do a good job. Inexperienced or not, the will to succeed would take you farther in this business than anything. Hollywood had a reputation for being cutthroat, and it was to an extent, but there were plenty of people who wanted to work hard. Erin was one of them. Not only did she want to work hard, she wanted to do well. That would take her far.

  I was, by no means, an expert on the ways of Hollywood. I’d only been here a few months, but it was easy to spot the kids who were here because mommy or daddy got them a spot and the ones who worked their way in with ingenuity and talent. Erin was the latter.

  There were approximately one thousand Coffee Bean coffee shops on set. It was almost as if Coffee Bean, as a company, paid a premium to be so prevalent on the campus. You couldn’t walk from one soundstage to another without encountering a shop. It was annoying at times, but most of the time it was convenient. Like now. I’d been up late reading through a script change that had come in last-minute, trying to familiarize myself with the new storyline, and I’d missed the sleep I needed. So, coffee it was. I wasn’t famous enough for a personal assistant, so I got my own coffee.

  I pulled my coat closed around my body. It was cold for a November day in LA. Not anywhere near as cold as it could get in San Francisco, but still chilly. My face was tilted down, looking at the pavement as I walked, trying to keep the wind from making my cheeks pink and giving Makeup a heart attack.

  I made the walk to the closest Coffee Bean a few times a week, so I felt like I could walk there with my eyes closed. When I saw the curb that started right in front of the coffee shop I turned and started up their walkway. I pulled the door open and my nose took in all the smells. The bitter smell of the coffee and the sweet smell of the pastries in the case. I looked up once I was inside, taking my hands out of my coat pockets, and reaching into the back pocket of my jeans for my wallet.

  Over the common, neutral buzz of voices that was normal, I heard one voice stand out. My head quickly turned to the left and I nearly choked on the breath I pulled in at the sight of the blonde woman sitting with her back to me.

  It was her.

  I knew it was her.

  I could feel it.

  What in the world was she doing here?

  Every part of my body seized at the sight of her. Even though she was facing away from me, I knew it was Kalli. I would recognize her voice in an instant, in any situation. We’d spent the majority of our relationship on the phone. Her voice, in those months, had become a salve to me, the light I looked forward to every day. It was like a drug to me. So I knew it was her when I heard her talking to whoever was on the other end of her phone.

  I was stuck in place, the barista looking at me with confusion, probably wondering why I wasn’t ordering my usual drink and was, instead, standing in the middle of the coffee shop with a dumbfounded look on my face.

  I turned and nearly ran from the coffee shop. If Kalli was in LA and hadn’t contacted me, it was probably because she didn’t want to see me. And as much as I wanted to run to her, to touch her, to push her hair behind her ears and look her in the eyes, I wouldn’t purposefully do anything to upset her.

  I walked quickly back to set and found Erin, pencil still behind her ear, looking as determined as ever.

  “Erin, I need a favor,” I said quietly as I pulled her behind the wall of a set.

  “I’m in the middle of something,” she said, but looked concerned.

  “Listen, I know it’s asking a lot, but I need you to find out some information for me.”

  Her eyes drilled into mine, searching for something. Finally, she sighed and relented.

  “What do you need?” she asked, sounding as if she were put out by my request, but I knew she liked feeling needed.

  “There’s a costume designer on the lot. I need to know what she’s working on and how long she’ll be here.”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not information I have access to. I’m just an intern.”

  “I’m not asking you to hack into someone’s computer. Just ask around. Talk to your intern friends. I just need to know why she’s here.”

  “Okay. What’s her name?”

  “Kalli Rivers.”

  Erin took her pencil from behind her ear and started scribbling on her clipboard. “Okay, Kalli Rivers. Got it. I’ll try to figure it out for you, but I’ve got actual work I have to get done too.”

  “I appreciate it, Erin.” I tried to give her a smile, but I couldn’t manage a convincing one. Instead, I think I gave her a smile that morphed into a frown halfway through. I turned away from her and walked back to my dressing room. I went straight to the vanity at the end of the room and just stood under the bright lights, staring back at my reflection.

  I had told myself, since Marcus’ funeral, that eventually she’d come back to me. I held on to the hope that eventually she’d heal enough to realize that I loved her more than anything. I didn’t want her to forget that I was here, waiting for her. I’d not heard one word from her, but that only made me think she wasn’t ready.

  But seeing her in LA, at a coffee shop, holding a normal conversation — fuck, it hurt. It was painful in a way I couldn’t fully appreciate in that moment. To think that she’d been in LA and not reached out to me, it hurt worse than hearing her yelling my name, screaming for me to leave her alone. Seeing her in LA meant she’d moved on in some way and didn’t want to bring me along with her.

  I scrubbed my hands down my face, trying to brush away the troubling thoughts. When I looked at the clock I realized I was late.

  “Fuck,” I whispered, and threw my coat onto the couch. I walked out the door, heading back to set, wondering how I was going to make it through filming with Kalli on my mind.

  Throughout the day I caught sight of Erin, tried to make eye contact with her, wondering if she’d found anything out for me yet, but she never looked my way. She was running errands for the director, making calls for him, getting lunch for him, everything she was supposed to be doing. Every time I saw her and she didn’t give me any information, I became more irritated.

  “Riot, get in the game,” my director hollered at me right after he’d yelled, “CUT!”

  The overwhelming urge to punch something rocketed through me. I’d never had violent tendencies, but the electricity running through me, the anger I felt toward myself, needed an outlet.

  “I got it,” I said, just loud enough for the director to hear, looking at the ground, unable to meet his eyes.

  “It doesn’t really seem like you do, man. We’ve been running this scene for over an hour. Come on. Whatever is clouding your brain, man, leave it at the door.”

  His voice was teetering between angry and sympathetic. He was obviously frustrated with the way the day was going, as was I, but he knew it wasn’t normal for me.

  “I got it,” I repeated, still looking at the floor.

  I heard him sigh, then he bellowed, “Everyone take five so Riot can get his shit together!”

  At his words, I walked back to my dressing room, slumping down on the couch, elbows on my knees and head in my hands. After just a few minutes I heard my door open.

  “Riot?” Erin’s face peeked through the opening.

  “You find something out?” I asked, ignoring manners and demanding information.

  “Yeah, turns out Kalli Rivers
is the chief costume designer for the new sitcom they’re filming over on Lot B. She’s been here about three weeks. Not long.”

  “Chief costume designer?” I asked, a little surprised by her job title.

  “Yup,” Erin responded, sounding impatient. “Do you need anything else?”

  I thought about what I needed and what Erin could provide. The answer was depressing because there wasn’t anything else she could do. All the other questions I had, only Kalli could answer.

  “No. Thank you, Erin. I appreciate the favor.”

  She gave me a small smile before her head disappeared and the door closed again.

  Kalli had been in LA for at least three weeks, perhaps longer, and she hadn’t tried to reach out to me. She was on my studio’s lot, working here every day, and I hadn’t heard a word from her. The new information was making me ill. My gut turned, actually ached with the news. This was not what I had expected. Not what I was holding out hope for.

  I dragged my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands and pulling, trying to distract myself from the hole forming in my chest. Fuck. I had banked on the idea that she would contact me. Call me. Write me. Text me. Anything. I stood up and walked back to the vanity, staring at my own reflection, wondering where in the hell I was supposed to go from here.

  I only had a minute or two until I needed to get back to set, so I needed to get back into the game. Kalli was a big distraction, but I couldn’t let the new information cause a problem with my job. This job, so far, had been incredible, and I was grateful for the opportunity. I didn’t want the director or producers to start thinking I was a high-maintenance actor. That reputation would follow me around throughout my entire career. No, I needed to calm the hell down and get back to work.

  If Kalli truly was the costume designer for a show shooting here, I’d have my opportunity to confront her. It just wouldn’t be today.

  I stood up straighter, squared my shoulders, and turned to return to set. The entire time I was walking through the soundstage I was telling myself I’d have my chance, that I’d get the opportunity to speak with her, I just had to keep my cool until then.

  When I walked up to the set, with its lights blazing and people standing around waiting for me to get my head on straight, my director turned to me and asked, “You ready to work?”

  “I’m ready, boss. Sorry for the delay. It won’t happen again.”

  He looked at me for a few seconds, seeming to decide if he believed me or not. But finally, he nodded and said, “Glad to hear it.” Then he yelled to everyone else on set, “Places. Let’s roll, people.”

  And I was back in business.

  It was dark when I left the studio that night. Scenes ran long, although thankfully I wasn’t the only one holding up production, and the weight of the director’s disdain landed on someone else not long after I’d tried to shrug it off. It had been a long day, full of mistakes and mishaps, having to reshoot scenes for idiotic reasons, and trying not to let aggravation seep into my performance. Sometimes I found myself thinking about how modeling was so much easier than acting. Modeling, although it came with its difficulties as well, sometimes was just as easy as standing in a certain pose and staring at the camera. Acting, especially on film, was a whole different animal and it came with an impressive list of difficulties, hurdles, and a steep learning curve.

  I pulled my coat closed around me again, the chill in the air quite a bit more biting now that the sun had set. I thought that the next day I should wear a cap, or a scarf. I knew it wouldn’t get too cold in LA—snow wasn’t even on my radar—but the early mornings and late evenings warranted warmer clothing.

  I made it to my truck, climbed in, and started the engine, blasting the heater. The windows fogged a little, showing the age of my truck, so I sat and leaned my head against the back of the cab.

  Kalli was here. In LA. Working on the same studio lot as me.

  Most of me wanted to be really happy about the news I’d learned, but the majority found a way to be crushed instead. My mind thought back to the coffee shop that afternoon, remembered what I’d seen of her, just the golden trail of her long blonde hair falling down her back against the denim jacket she was wearing. I’d seen, poking out from under the table, a little brown high-heeled boot on her foot, and that image alone sparked hundreds I had stored inside my brain. Memories I’d only allowed myself to ponder in deep moments of complete masochism.

  I remembered her blue eyes staring down at me, her hair making a veil around us as she hovered, both of us naked, me inside of her, watching as she moved. The pink of her lips matching the exact shade of her cheeks, her creamy skin with a hint of the flush caused by her arousal.

  My eyes drifted closed as I remembered the way she felt wrapped around me, how her heat enveloped me, spurred me on, and made me lose control on more than one occasion. Sex with Kalli was addictive and she was so receptive to being taken, it was difficult to be around her and not simply want to take.

  My dick grew hard as I sat in the parking lot of my job, and the realization that I was hitting a new low washed over me. I wanted her so badly, but it seemed I was the last thing she was interested in. My hands gripped the steering wheel and I watched my knuckles turn white. How stupid could I have been? She’d pushed me away months ago and I was still hanging on to hope that her rejection was only temporary. Fuck me. I swiped my hands down my face roughly, threw the truck in reverse, and hauled ass out of that parking lot. I aimed my truck at the bar down the street from my apartment, planning to walk home when I was good and drunk.

  Chapter Six

  Be Invisible

  Kalli

  I’d developed a routine since arriving in LA. I went to work and stayed on set when possible, ignoring my desire to explore the studio lot. I was afraid if I wandered, I’d wander right into Riot. Therefore, in an effort to avoid such an instance, I stayed on set or at the Coffee Bean right next to my soundstage.

  I knew it was ridiculous. I knew eventually I’d run into him and things would be awkward. But I was willing to postpone the painful experience as long as possible. So I kept to my private studio, the set, and the Coffee Bean. When the day was finished I hauled it back to the studio apartment I’d rented.

  November had brought some unusual rain to LA, so I was run-walking all the way into the coffee shop and didn’t stop at the register to order. Instead, I headed directly to my table, which was usually empty because people on a studio lot in LA weren’t there to sit and have a relaxing cup of coffee. People ordered to go and left with as much haste as they came in with.

  I dropped my bag on the chair and shook out my coat, and only when I lifted my eyes to the tabletop did I see the piece of paper folded up and lying flat atop it. The paper had my name scrawled across it and I knew it was his handwriting.

  I picked it up, then looked around. My eyes darted around the coffee shop, wondering if he was inside, or just outside. If he was watching me at that moment, or was someplace far away. My hands started to tremble, knowing that if I saw him I just might lose my composure. I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Somewhere in the back of my mind it occurred to me that he must have known that, which was why he left me a note but didn’t stick around to watch me read it.

  I sat down, holding the paper in my hands, wondering if I had the will to even open it or not. I hadn’t opened a single card that came with the flowers. I knew myself. I knew that if I opened the note, whatever was written inside would alter me. Would affect me. No matter what the note said, it would change me. I also knew myself well enough to know I wasn’t over him. Sure, I was better off than I had been weeks ago, but there was a part of me that believed I would never truly be able to move past him. So his note would either break me by telling me to move on, or force me to take action by telling me he wasn’t over me either. I wasn’t comfortable with either one of those scenarios.

  No, I liked the smooth sailing I’d encountered since moving to LA.

  I went to work, I
did my job, I went home. Wash, rinse, repeat.

  Knowing Riot had been here, been right at this table, jostled something inside of me, and I found the courage to open the paper. My eyes drifted over the paper, catching single, insignificant words, then hopped around some more until I finally closed them, took a breath, and started reading the note from the beginning.

  Kalli,

  I saw you sitting at this table one day, and I’ve seen you almost every day since. I know why you sit in the back, facing away from the door, not near any windows, and I’ve tried to respect that. I’ve tried to allow you the invisibility you’re obviously looking for. So, every day I come to this coffee shop, I take in the sight of you, and then I leave you to the solitary bubble you’ve created.

  I get it.

  I don’t know if you knew I worked here or not, but, in case you didn’t—I work here. Just on the next lot over, actually. It didn’t take me long to figure out where you worked after I saw you, so I imagine it couldn’t have been hard for you to find out the same information about me. That only leads me to believe you knew I worked here but were trying to avoid me.

  Again, I get it.

  But I don’t like it.

  So, I’m giving you fair warning. When I come in tomorrow, if I see you sitting here, I’m going to approach you. I’ll sit down and say hi, and you can respond however you’d like, but I hope you’ll talk to me, Kalli. If nothing else, I miss talking to you. We used to talk so often. I’m just asking to have a conversation with you.