by Kacey Shea
Crystal rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“You’re a real—” Bitch. Piece of work. I grate down on my teeth and try to calm my inner rage. But it’s no use. I am so angry I could scream. I hate Crystal. I hate living here. I hate all of this. “Ugly person.”
Everyone gasps, including Crystal.
“I told Kari Ann not to pick you,” she says as the doorbell rings. “You’re old, and stuck up, and I don’t know what you’re doing to make money for rent, but it’s not playing with makeup.” Crystal is beautiful on the surface, but right now she’s showing all her nasty. Not that it matters, because by the glares on the rest of my roommates, they’ve already taken her side. They’re either mean like her, or scared of her malice. The doorbell rings again.
“Someone get the fucking door!” Crystal snaps.
Shit. Jude. I don’t have time to deal with any of this. Not when I’m due on set in an hour.
“We’re not done with this conversation,” I say in her face, passing by the rest of my roommates. I stomp across the living room and yank open the front door. “I’m not ready yet.”
Jude’s eyes widen, glued to my bare legs, while his jaw falls open.
“Jude. Act as if you’ve seen legs before.”
“None like those.” He blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair before straightening his tie.
I grit my teeth together, not in the mood to deal with his ogling or teasing. “I need five minutes.” I shut the door on his still-stunned face and stomp back to my room, glad to see the drama squad has cleared to their corners of the apartment. I slam my door and lock it. Fuck Crystal. Fuck all of my roommates. I need to make enough money so I can get the hell out of here and rent my own studio.
Peeling off my T-shirt, I slip on a simple wrap dress, then tug on a pair of black boots. I don’t have time to apply my own makeup or fix my hair, so I grab the essentials into a travel case and decide on jewelry—going for big hoops and a statement necklace. I wish I could lock up my stuff—now that I know my roommates like to help themselves, but there’s nothing I can do. Not at the moment. Not without my own vehicle. Besides, I can’t be late to work, or worse, miss my ride with Jude. I don’t even glance in the mirror on my way out, because I’m certain I’m a hot mess.
After my earlier reservations about letting Jude drive this morning, it turns out I’m thankful. It leaves me two free hands and all of LA’s lovely traffic to perfect my face. Can’t show up my first day on set as a makeup artist not wearing makeup.
“Rough morning.” Jude chuckles as I storm past and head straight for where his SUV is parked at the curb.
“Whoa!” Despite wearing a three-piece suit, he catches up to my side and beats me to the passenger side, opening my door. “Slow down, Andretti.”
I shoot him a glare.
His brows shoot up, and I almost feel bad for directing my anger his way. He didn’t break into my room and steal my makeup. I seethe just thinking about what Crystal did this morning; Andrea’s shitty move to ditch me on Saturday; the dickweed photog who left me high and dry after a full day’s work—a job I never would have booked if it weren’t for my awesome roomie. Grr! Anger rattles through my body, spikes my adrenaline, and in turn my entire body shakes with rage.
“Still hungover?” Jude hops into his seat and latches the belt.
From Saturday night? Does he assume I’m such a lightweight? Or is he giving me an out for our almost kiss that never was. I grit my teeth. “No. I didn’t drink that much.” I don’t want to unload all my feelings on him, but if he pushes, I just might burst.
The cab is silent but for the radio. Thank goodness. Maybe he understands. Maybe he’s observant enough to know I am a bear he doesn’t want to poke. Too bad my stupid roommates didn’t have the same insight. Really, I don’t even know how I can sleep there tonight. I unzip my makeup bag and flip down the sunshade to open the mirror. My own angry image reflects and for a second I almost scare myself—that’s how pissed I am. I wield my foundation like a battle axe, and take out my aggression on my complexion. Contour. Fix. Breathe.
At the next lull in traffic Jude directs a thoughtful stare my way. “On your period, then?”
My eyes bug and I turn in my seat to glare back. “Really, Jude!”
“What’s gotten into you?” He chuckles, but the sound fades as his brows scrunch with what appears to be genuine concern.
“My roommates suck.” I blow out an exhale, and swipe dark red over my lips. “I’ll get over it.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I grumble, glancing at his profile. Handsome. He looks like a million bucks yet here he is, driving me to work. All because, what? He was the only one to stop on the side of the road. But that doesn’t make sense. Maybe he lives nearby, but by his vehicle and watch, I’d bet otherwise. There’s something about Jude that sparks intrigue. Maybe it’s the fact he wears Armani, but doesn’t feel the need to shave. Or that he drives a down-on-her-luck makeup artist to work when he obviously could be doing something else.
At the next stop of traffic, he turns his neck, meeting my gaze with a slight lift of his eyebrow. A challenge.
“You know what? I do want to talk about it.” For the next fifteen minutes I spew every horrid thing each of my roommates has done. I don’t hold back. My words are harsh, unkind, and sharp with anger, all while my hands work to complete my makeup. My chest heaves and it’s only after my last words leave my lips, the ones recounting what happened this morning, that I turn to gauge his reaction.
I don’t know what I expect to find. Understanding? Empathy maybe? But instead Jude’s jaw is locked, his neck tight with what appears to be annoyance. His knuckles are practically white from where they grip the steering wheel. What the hell? Is he mad right now? Is he annoyed with me?
Defensiveness prickles up my spine. This right here is why I hold back my feelings. Why in every relationship I’ve saved the venting for my brother. He’s the one exception, because when most men ask you to tell them what’s wrong, they don’t really want to know. “Whatever,” I mutter under my breath.
“No.” His voice is practically a growl. “Rachel, that is not whatever.”
Okay, that’s it. I turn in my seat to better face him, and narrow my glare. “What’s your deal? I’m the one with the shitty roommates.”
He swears under his breath. It sounds a lot like the word bitch.
Did he really just—? My leg bounces and I grate my teeth together, willing the vehicle to move faster. Wishing we were already at the studio so I could ditch him and his stupid reliable transportation. They say there’s no such thing as a free ride, and I wholeheartedly agree. Fuck this. I pull out my phone with shaking hands and tap on the app to retrieve a ride where I won’t be made to feel stupid.
His gaze flicks to mine, his brows narrow. “What are you doing?”
“Getting a ride to work,” I say coldly. “You can let me out here.”
“We’re on the freeway, Rachel.” He shakes his head, a scoff of laughter bursting through his stupid kissable lips. “I can’t just pull over and leave you.”
“Sure, you can.” My phone app waits for me to enter a pick up address. Annoyance prickles my spine and I lift my bag from its place on the floorboard. “Fitting anyway, since it’s where you found me. I won’t be your pity project, and I certainly won’t be made to feel bad about sharing my feelings when you asked for it.”
“What?” He rears back as if I’ve slapped him. “You’re serious?” He glances from the traffic to my tight jaw. Back and forth several times, his brows arching toward his hairline. “I’m not fucking leaving you on the side of the road.”
My jaw ticks, and it’s all I can do to not shout. “The next exit, then. There’s a gas station.”
18
Jude
“Jesus.” I scrub my hand over my jaw. I need to shave. I need to fucking relax. My anger is only
pissing her off, when what I want is to take care of her. The entire time she recounted dealing with her roommates—women who should be her friends but obviously aren’t—my anger boiled to that of a barely contained rage.
She thinks I’ll drop her on the side of the road? She’s got to be fucking kidding.
“You are not getting out of this vehicle.” I lock the doors with the flip of a button to reiterate my statement.
She laughs, but it’s sort of a crazy sound. “Did you think I was going to jump out of a moving car?”
“Right now”—I chance a glance at her eyes, and yep—they’re as wild as I imagined—“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“You have some nerve. You know, I didn’t want to tell you about my problems. You asked for it. I’m so sorry you can’t handle me at my worst, but this is me, real, and not pretending to be nice.”
Wait, what? She thinks I’m pissed at her? I signal and whip the Escalade onto the nearest off-ramp. With a safe place to pull to the side, I throw it into park and unbuckle my seat belt so I can fully turn and face her. If I wasn’t certain she’d scratch my eyeballs, I’d pull her into my arms. “Rachel. I am not angry with you.” I clench and unclench my fists, forcing an exhale to leave my lips. “I am livid on your behalf. I cannot believe your roommates. If I didn’t have a principle against hitting women, I’d go over there right now and punch all of them in the kidney.”
Her face morphs from anger to surprise. Mouth parted, her lips quiver as if she wants to laugh. “Kidney?”
“Hurts like a motherfucker.” I scratch my jawline and shrug, letting loose a chuckle. “Besides, I’m not a monster. Since they’re all aspiring actresses, I don’t want to get sued for ruining their ability to find work.”
“Ever the gentleman.”
“I aspire to be.” On the console between us I offer my hand. Wanting to convey how sorry I am, how much I want to comfort her. After a long moment, she places her palm against mine. I give it a squeeze. “But I’m doing a really shitty job if you thought I was mad at you. I wish you didn’t have to deal with this. I wish I could make it better.”
“Jude.” She sighs, and thankfully the indignation is gone from her tone. Her gaze meets mine and in it I sense a vulnerability she doesn’t often share. As quick as it’s there, it’s gone. “Not your problem. Besides, you can’t fix everything. I promise I’m not some hopeless damsel in distress.” She laughs, pulling her hand back into her lap.
“No.” I glance at her, my lips ticking up at the corner. “No, you’re not. I never meant to imply otherwise. I just hate the idea of you living there.”
“You and me both.”
I glance at the clock. We’re good on time, but LA traffic can change in a second, and I don’t want her to be late for her first day on this film set. “I should get you to work.”
“Thank you.” She lifts her gaze and offers me a smile. “I really do appreciate you.”
My chest fills. My lungs tighten. With those simple words I feel ten feet tall. She has that power and she doesn’t even realize. Good thing, because if she did, she’d probably use it to her advantage like every woman before her. No. Rachel isn’t like the others. There’s a goodness in her. She’s not a user, she’s a giver. It’s probably the reason I have an insatiable need to be around her. Why I’d call in a favor simply to make her life easier. It’s terrifying, really, the lengths I’d go for her, and we’re not even together.
19
Rachel
After Jude drops me at the front security office, I check in and receive my clearance passes. I’m familiar with the process, but this is the first time I’ve been granted access to the bigger lot. I wait with a group, and we catch the next shuttle. Inside the studio, I’m met by a PA who shows me to the hair and makeup team, Devin, Roz, Kendall, Amy, and De’Shaun.
“Come on, baby doll.” De’Shaun waves me over. “You’re with me today.” His wide, friendly smile instantly calms my nerves. I also admire his expert use of eyeliner and sense of style. His red shoes, white jeans, and ironic white T-shirt with bold black lettering that reads BOSS BITCH lend a bold and unapologetic style I already love.
“So, how’d you land this gig?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. But I’m grateful to be here.”
He stares as if gauging my words. Almost as if he’s deciphering whether I’m telling the truth. I don’t take offense, because I have nothing to hide. I also know how people lie, claw, and sleep their way to a job in this industry. He’s right to be wary. “Hmm,” he hums, as if surprised at whatever conclusion he comes to about my answer. Then he nods for me to follow. “Shall we?”
I take everything in as he gives me a quick tour of the set and rundown of our day. Apparently, they’ve been prepping for this film for weeks, but the girl with my job checked herself into rehab last weekend and they’ve been scrapping by until production hired a replacement.
“Not gonna lie. When they said they were adding a new girl, I was worried.” De’Shaun blinks exaggeratedly, then shoots me a wink.
I can’t help but laugh. “But you’re not now?” I pick up my pace to meet his longer stride. We weave around a few clusters of people and dodge an incoming golf cart.
“I read auras.” He waves me off. “Yours is pure as honey. We’re gonna get along just fine. That and you didn’t sleep your way to be here.”
“No. Didn’t do that.” I chuckle wryly. “I’d have to be having sex for that to happen.”
He bursts into laughter. “Yeah, we’re gonna get by just fine.” He stops short at one of several trailers and climbs the steps.
De’Shaun knocks on the trailer, then waves for me to follow him inside when the door opens. Cora Bentley. The starlet’s name marked on the door steals my confidence for a second. When I accepted this job, I expected to be put on the team for extras and side characters. Maybe even to act as an assistant or errand girl.
Cora is not just some actress. She’s the actress. Every one of her films in the last few years has been a blockbuster hit. When I saw her name on the cast list, I expected I might see her from afar. Maybe cross paths at the coffee cart or something.
“Morning, Miss Bentley.” De’Shaun offers her an air kiss to each cheek. “Ready for me to play with these gorgeous locks again?” He combs his hands through her blonde tresses with a familiarity that flows between close friends . . . or a stylist and client.
“Do your magic.” Cora takes a sip from the smoothie in her hand, then picks up a stack of papers before heading to a chair.
My mouth is still agape when De’Shaun invites me over. “Rae is our new makeup artist. Though, I think maybe you two already know each other?”
I blink, totally confused, because I would have remembered meeting one of my favorite actresses.
Cora’s smile brightens in the reflection of the lighted mirror, and she twists in her seat to hold out her hand. “Rae! So nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand and try not to fluster. “Great to meet you.” She’s a normal person. She’s just a person.
“Thanks for coming on so late in the project. You’re a total lifesaver!”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“I watch makeup tutorials when I can’t sleep. It’s like, my thing. I came across yours, and you’re really good. I’m happy you’re here.”
“Oh.” It all clicks. Wow. I haven’t added content to my YouTube account in almost a year. I started doing them as something fun, and they were for a while, but my ex thought they were a waste of time. I guess after being told so for so long, I started to believe. Confidence straightens my spine knowing those “silly” videos were probably what landed me this job on set. “I’m glad you like them.”
“Love them! I hope you add more soon. I subscribed to your channel. I’ll tweet about it too, if you want.”
“That’s so nice.” You don’t have to. I almost add, but conversations with Jude echo in the back of my mind and his influence stops me.
She wouldn’t offer if she didn’t want to. Or if she didn’t enjoy my work. I maintain a sane, cool expression, but inside I’m doing cartwheels. If she shows my social media account some attention, that would be huge!
De’Shaun flips open a book, begins explaining the look we’re going for today. I focus on the work, listening and taking everything in. Thankfully, there are photos, notes, and renderings for me to work from. Not to mention a workstation stocked with anything and everything I’ll ever need. It takes me a few minutes to orient myself, but when De’Shaun cranks the volume on the Bluetooth speaker to sing along about bills with Destiny’s Child, joy so unexpected fills my chest. As Cora Bentley settles back into her seat, eyes closed and ready for me to do my thing, a genuine smile works its way onto my lips.
A sense of belonging. A wave of pride. This moment is everything.
Holy shit. I’m applying foundation to Cora freaking Bentley’s skin for a soon to be blockbuster feature film. All the struggles I’ve been through these last months—moving across the country, weeks of eating butter noodles, sharing an apartment with horrid selfish bitches—are worth it. The countless hours worked. The extra jobs. Everything. It’s led me to this opportunity, and for this one moment I feel as though I’ve arrived.
My life might not be perfect. I still don’t have a working vehicle, and there’s the roommate issue waiting at home, but for now gratitude takes the wheel and that’s fuel enough to get me through the day.
20
Jude
Come six o’clock, I’m parked outside the studio, laptop resting on my legs and phone on the center console. Work is a poor distraction as I wait for Rachel’s text. I hope she had a great day in spite of the way it began. I’m still fuming about this morning. She shouldn’t be living with people she can’t trust. I want to fix it. I want her out of there. So much that I almost drove back over to pack up her entire place so she never has to step foot in that apartment again. Even I realize how irrational that impulse is.