“What, Shaun?” I snapped, my eyes carefully fixed on his sternum. His glistening, very muscular sternum. I swallowed hard and forced the snark to take over. “Do you have another pointless errand for me to run?”
“It wasn’t pointless when I called. Lewis had a spare set.”
“So, you couldn’t call me and tell me that?”
“I meant to.”
My hard gaze flicked up to meet his. He was frowning down at me, his eyes scanning my face and his bare chest a little too close for my over-stimulated mind. I pulled free from his grip, taking a step back towards the door, and crossed my arms.
“Next time, make the call.”
I slammed out of the gym before he could respond. I needed distance, a cold shower, and a reminder that he was my prickly asshole of a boss. He was most definitely off limits. I’d dealt with enough self-entitled pricks to know better.
Chapter Five
The next day, it was like nothing had happened. Shaun turned up on time wearing sunglasses. Considering the sun hadn’t even risen, I grew suspicious.
“What the hell are you wearing, Shaun?”
His mismatched shoes and wrinkled shirt also added to my frown.
The only reply he gave was a grunt. He collapsed face down on his sofa and stayed there, unmoving for long enough that suspicion gave way to concern.
I put the tablet down and went to check on him. Standing over him, the stench made my eyes water. I turned my head away, taking shallow breaths.
“Did you stay up drinking all night?”
Again, he grunted.
“You need to be on set in less than an hour.”
His words were muffled by the sofa, but they sounded suspiciously like “deal with it.” He cured me of my concern without lifting his head. Hell, this stunt would cure me of any lingering lust too. Small mercies.
My hands landed on my hips. “Get your ass up now!” I shouted, relishing the hiss of pain that exploded from him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I pulled him back until I could see his face. I gritted my teeth against the fumes that hit me. “You’re supposed to be a professional. Professionals don’t turn up on set too drunk to read their lines. Get in the shower and sober up.”
His sunglasses slipped off as he flopped onto his back, and he winced. “Can you close the blinds?” he asked, covering his eyes with his arm and ignoring my orders.
“No, I can’t.”
“Mona,” he groaned.
“You’ve got a job to do.”
“Just tell them I’m sick.”
I snorted, and he peeked at me from beneath his arm.
“What’s so funny?”
“Thought I was dealing with an A-lister, not a has been.” I shook my head. “Sure, Shaun, I’ll tell them you’re sick.” He relaxed into the pillow, a satisfied smile curling his lips. This time, it did not liquify my insides. “Then you can kiss your career goodbye. Of course, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m only tied to your sorry ass for six months. The world’s my oyster after that. You will just have to deal with the rumours that Shaun Martin let a girl destroy his promising career.”
Shaun stared at me, his jaw working as he ground his teeth.
“Weren’t there talks of Oscars before you trashed that car?” I asked, my voice honey sweet.
He launched off the sofa, grumbling beneath his breath as he stomped to the back of the trailer and the shower.
Grinning like I’d won Wimbledon, I picked up my radio and notified the crew we were running late. I couldn’t care less about the late part right then. I’d bested Shaun Martin. The king of screen thought he had the upper hand, but he’d just confirmed his weakness, and I had every intention of using it against him to suit both our needs.
“Can you stop with that look?” Shaun asked thirty minutes later while the wardrobe mistress laid out his costume in the changing area.
“What look?”
“This smirking business.” He circled his finger in front of my face and I swatted it away. “I don’t like it.”
“Why? It’s your preferred expression.”
“I don’t walk around looking like I’m better than everyone.”
“And you know how to make them bend to your every whim?” I snorted, and he shook his head. “Oh, boy. Are you delusional or what?”
His scowl barely diminished his polished good looks. How was that even fair? To make it worse, he tore off the fresh t-shirt I’d shoved at him when he stepped into the main area of his trailer wearing nothing but a towel. He was getting over his hangover and in the process, he’d decided that it was “test Mona day”. I would not let him win.
“Something wrong?” he asked, amusement dripping from his words.
“Not at all.” My eyes fixed on a spot just to the side of his gloriously naked chest.
Moira, his wardrobe mistress, continued pulling items from the rack at a leisurely pace. Couldn’t she tell I was desperate for an out here?
“Maybe you should wait outside if you can’t handle a naked man.”
My eyes narrowed at the challenge in his voice. I couldn’t leave now. The bastard would think he’d won!
“I’ve seen plenty of naked chests,” I said, tutting like he was boring me. “Yours doesn’t quite compare. Maybe start lifting weights instead of throwing your weight around a ring. It might buff you up a bit.”
Please don’t start lifting weights.
I made a show of studying all that exposed skin. How I kept a straight face and didn’t float off into dreamland is beyond me – at least I think I maintained my detached, scientific expression. I’d definitely need to get laid before I could keep working with him.
His eyes narrowed. “Your deflections are hilarious, but honestly, Mona, you’re not fooling anyone.”
My gaze snapped to him. He wasn’t going to bring up last night. Surely not. I thought we had some unspoken agreement. I held my breath and waited for it. He grinned at the sight.
“You were licking your lips last night. You like my body as it is, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him. He was right, of course, but I wasn’t going to confirm that. He didn’t need to know he was right. He just wanted to lord it over me and add it to his manipulation arsenal. I saw right through that pretty-boy smile of his.
“Keep dreaming, Hotshot.”
“I don’t think it’s my dreams you need to worry about.”
And with that smug pronouncement, he disappeared behind the curtain of his changing room. Why had I made him get up this morning? It was peaceful while he lay face down, suffocating himself. Sigh. I didn’t know what was good for me until it was too late.
“I could murder a Welsh cake right now,” Shaun said, his tone wistful.
It felt like I’d been sat on the equipment case – or flight case, as they said around here – for hours. There weren’t really any seats on set, just the director’s chair and seating for main cast, but flight cases seemed to ease the burden for everyone else.
Shaun leaned against the equipment case next to mine while we waited for the stage to be reset. Guess the actor’s chair wasn’t that comfortable.
“You’re not allowed flour or sugar.”
“There’re raisins in them. Surely that cancels out the bad?”
I pushed a plate of fruit towards him without taking my eyes from my tablet. “Eat a grape, Shaun.”
“I don’t want grapes,” he whined. “I want a Welsh cake.”
“And I’d like a boss who doesn’t throw tantrums like a child, but we can’t all have our way,” I muttered, too distracted to give it my all.
He wanted to change all of his personal trainer sessions. He thought he could snap his fingers and it would be done. No sweet-talking his usually very sympathetic trainer. No checking if the new schedule worked. “Just do it, Mona” was all he’d snapped when I’d pointed out that it may not be that easy. Trainers had other clients and their own schedule. Well, I’d bee
n proven right because Shaun’s PT was putting up a fight and I was on the verge of using his credit card to bribe the man.
Chapter Six
Sunday rolled around quickly, and I was deliriously happy to turn the alarm off when I went to bed the night before. Because Shaun had a day off from set, that meant I had a day off from him. I had plans. So many wonderful plans. I was going to unpack my room, go shopping, read a book, pamper myself. All the things I’d neglected for my first week in the city.
I was going to enjoy a day without the rollercoaster that was Shaun Martin.
So, why then did my phone start buzzing incessantly before I was good and ready to get up?
HotShot: Need U 2 pick up suit from dry cleaners.
HotShot: Interview @ 10. Need it b4.
HotShot: Mona! SOS.
Mona: It’s my day off, get your own suit.
HotShot: U don’t get day off until I do.
Mona: You’re joking with this text talk, right? What are you, 12?
HotShot: Ur hilarious. Now move!
I dropped the phone on my bedside table and rolled over, burying my face in the pillows and cocooning myself in the duvet. It was my day off. He could fend for himself.
Almost instantly, my phone started buzzing again, and this time it was the consistent drone of an incoming call.
I could ignore him. It was my right after six gruelling, nonstop days playing his errand girl. Sleep deprivation was quickly becoming my normal and I did not like it. Sherry had warned me about his mood swings, but would it have killed her to prepare me for the absurd hours? I was getting up crazy early to beat him to set, and he was robbing me of the benefit of early wraps. Then I had to stay up late dealing with his latest crisis.
I hadn’t even ignored the call yet and already I felt guilty. Could I actually enjoy my day off if this was hanging over me?
I should just do it, and then I’d have the entire day to myself…
That thought had some merit.
Sighing, I rolled back towards the annoying sound and answered.
“Yes, slave driver, how can I help you at this ridiculous hour of the morning?”
“Get up. I was being serious about the suit. Audrey Harper is due at ten and my best suit is at the dry cleaners.”
“Why does Audrey Harper need you in a suit at ten AM on a Sunday?”
“You really know bugger all about my world, don’t you?” Shaun scoffed. He didn’t wait for a reply, choosing to give me a screen education – could I call it a screen-a-cation for short? Oh geez, I was definitely too tired if that was popping into my head.
“She’s the top entertainment reporter in the US. The fact she’s flown over to interview me is a big thing. I thought both Sherry and the producers would have mentioned it.”
They hadn’t.
Neither had he, not once in the last week. It also wasn’t on his calendar.
“You couldn’t have planned for this, oh I don’t know, yesterday?”
“I forgot, alright?” His tone was mildly sheepish. Not sheepish enough for me to forgive him for hijacking my day off. My phone buzzed against my ear. “I just texted you the owner’s number. They’re closed today, so you’ll have to sweet-talk him. I know you’re capable of it; I’ve seen you with the crew.”
Wait, was that envy in his voice? I laughed. “Aw, poor Shaun. Doesn’t know the difference between sweet-talking and genuine kindness.”
Shaun growled. “Will you pick up the suit or not?”
“Yes, but that’s it. I drop it off and then I leave. I am not sticking around. No more texts until tomorrow.”
“Fine,” he ground out. “Just get here well before ten.”
The way he said it… did I really want to know what time it actually was?
No was the answer. A thousand times no.
He’d called me at 7AM. Yes, I know it’s not an ungodly hour to most people, but we’re talking 7AM on a Sunday after six days of back-to-back early starts. I deserved a lie-in!
He also hadn’t prepared me for the mountain of clothes waiting for me at the dry cleaners.
“Where have you been getting clothes all week if your entire wardrobe was at the cleaners?” I asked when he opened the door to his flat.
I couldn’t see him from behind my towering burden. The doorman had to open the door for me and call the lift. I was shocked I’d made it without losing something.
“I’ve got plenty of clothes left.”
“You own more clothes than me,” I muttered, my shock muffled by the mound of plastic floating in front of my face.
“Why are we talking about clothes? Where’s my suit?” The haphazard stack in my arms started to shake.
“Uh, Shaun, can you wait until I put them down?”
“There’s no time.”
“Yeah, I got that, but they’re heavy enough and they aren’t really stacked—”
He pulled a bag free with a triumphant, “Aha!” The entire pile slid from my grasp until the only thing left in my hands was a pair of denim jeans. I stared at them with growing horror.
“You pay someone to dry-clean jeans?” It was such a gigantic waste of money. They did perfectly fine in a washing machine.
Shaun walked off, none the wiser of my disgust. He had his suit and a crisp white shirt in hand. Nothing else mattered in Shaun Martin-land.
“Aren’t you going to help me clean up your mess?” I called after him, knowing full well I wouldn’t get an answer.
Muttering beneath my breath, I started gathering what I could safely carry. I wandered into the flat, my eyes skidding from polished surface to polished surface.
Everything seemed so… white.
The front door opened into a spacious living room decked out with white walls, light hardwood floors and white furniture. Seriously, even the sofa was white. I’d be terrified to sit on the thing. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up the outer wall spanning from the living room to the top-of-the-line white kitchen. The view of the bay was breath-taking, but somebody needed a serious splash of colour in his life.
“Shaun, where do you want all these clothes?”
“Bring them in here,” he called from somewhere beyond the kitchen.
I found a staircase that led up to a mezzanine and a master bedroom. This space broke the mould on the floor below. A plush charcoal carpet spanned the floor, and the bed was made up with emerald-green sheets. The walls were still glaringly white, but with the promise of a view of the bay from bed, I’m not sure I’d care either.
“Just hang them up in the wardrobe. I’ll unwrap them when I need them,” Shaun said, his voice sounding behind the only closed door in the room.
I did as I was told, trying not to gasp at the size of his walk-in wardrobe. I didn’t know we had these in the UK.
On my fourth trip with the last of the clothes, Shaun stepped out of the bathroom. Any words I might have spoken dried up on my tongue. The man looked good in black. Far too good.
“You could have helped,” I muttered, using the bite of irritation to remind me I did not like him; lusting after him wasn’t sensible.
“Boss.” He pointed to himself and then to me. “Assistant.”
Haha. Asshole.
“Well, in that case, your assistant is taking her day off. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
I was nearly out of his bedroom door when I thought I heard him mutter my name, but that couldn’t be right because he’d agreed this was it. He’d promised me the day off. Hadn’t he?
“Did you have any big plans?” Shaun asked, his voice louder.
I paused in the doorway and slowly turned back to him. “What does it matter? It’s my day off. I can do whatever I want with it.”
He dragged his hand through his hair. “Remember when I said you don’t get a day off until I do?”
I scowled. That was not a thing.
“I’m not getting a day off and I need my assistant’s help with this interview.”
“Wh
y?” I drawled, suspicion dripping from every letter as I eyed him. Shaun didn’t give praise. That sounded like lowball praise. I wasn’t buying it.
“It’s a big interview and it would help if I wasn’t worrying about other stuff.”
“Stuff like what?”
He blinked at me, clearly unprepared for a battle. Too bad for him I could switch it on with little effort.
“Answering the door, coffees.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. “I don’t know – stuff. Things come up. I can’t plan for everything.”
I snorted. “I wouldn’t say you plan for anything.”
He nodded. “That’s… fair.”
It was my turn to blink. He’d agreed with me without a fight. What the fuck was going on here? I was missing something, surely.
“Is there a reason you don’t want to be alone with this reporter?” I kept my voice level and free of any kind of judgement. If he’d hit on her and led her on, he wouldn’t catch flak from me. Not out loud, at least.
He bit his lip, indecision playing over his features. “Lily used to help me with them.”
His quiet words were like a sharp turn on a rollercoaster. I didn’t know what to do with them. We were just arguing, right?
“Did you tell Sherry?” Surely, she’d have stepped in if she thought it was that simple. “Maybe she could be here to help you with interviews.”
A sneer distorted the curve of his lips, shattering the momentary vulnerability. “Last I checked, you were my assistant, not my handler. Just do your job, Mona.” Pushing past me, he jogged down the stairs, and I followed, my steps slow and reluctant.
My scowl returned. I hadn’t agreed yet, but could I even say no now? Pretty sure this wasn’t the kind of issue Sherry wanted to hear about, and really, at the rate of pay, could I refuse? He was more than paying for overtime, and I wasn’t ready for this new chapter to end too soon.
“I think we should set up here. Can you clear all of this away?” Shaun asked, gesturing to a pile of books, throws and general debris that littered his sofa and coffee table.
Between Takes Page 4