by Melody Anne
“Whatever.” She took my arm and guided me toward the shack that would be Thora’s house. “I’m sure you can fill me in on all that later. For now, I need you to help me with this director. And here, if you are my assistant, you should probably carry my crap.”
Veronica shoved a purse with the same logo as her sunglasses into my chest. I shot her a dirty look and slipped the strap over my shoulder with my own bag before following her into the shack.
The set designer’s attention to detail sent me reeling. I stood in the middle of Thora’s home, my mouth wide. The wooden table Thora and her brothers would eat and plan at was perfect, right down to the notches in the center. Trinkets cluttered the shelves: trophies from successful pillages and carvings made by my heroine when she was a child learning how to wield a knife. The walls were covered with maps, pinned there by the tips of daggers.
I’d imagined dining with Thora’s family so many times in my head, I could barely contain my excitement at the possibility I could now sit down and do just that. I bounced on my heels and suppressed the urge to clap like a patron in a theater.
Veronica kicked me in the shin and glowered at me.
“What?” I asked. “Can’t I at least admire how awesome this set is?”
“You’re my assistant,” she said. “So assist me. That’s the director. Go see what he wants from me.”
She pushed me toward a short, balding man who seemed to be barking directions at a few crew members. I stumbled into the table and winced as pain shot up my hip. Was it this common for a writer to endure so many injuries on set? And by things they themselves created?
I hesitated before stepping toward the director. He looked super involved in whatever he was telling the people around us to do. I glanced back at Veronica and she motioned for me to move before turning her attention to her phone. I dug my fingers into my palm and stood beside the director.
“Um, excuse me, Mr. Rainer?” I pulled his name out of the recesses of my mind where I’d stored all the production details.
He swung around to face me and I was struck by how young he looked from the front. The missing hair from the back of his head definitely gave the wrong impression. His eyes were dark brown, sunken into his head. They darted around the room, never fully coming to rest.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m Elise Jameson,” I said. “Aubrey Lynch’s assistant.”
“Stan Rainer.” He stuck his hand out and his sweaty palm slapped against mine. “I wasn’t aware Ms. Lynch would be bringing an assistant.”
“She’s a busy woman,” I said. “But I’m quite knowledgeable about the Viking Moon series, so feel free to ask me anything if she’s not around.”
A tall woman with a clipboard approached us and wordlessly handed it to the director. Stan looked it over, nodded, and signed. The woman retrieved the board and disappeared out the door.
“If you don’t mind me saying, your boss is a little standoffish,” Stan said, leaning closer. “All I asked her was if this house looked like how she pictured it and she yelled at me about how she didn’t have time for stupid questions.”
I scowled at Veronica, but she had her head bent over her phone and didn’t see me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You know writers. They’re used to spending most of their time alone. Writing’s rarely this collaborative. But I think this place looks amazing. It’s like I’m in the books.”
“Good,” he replied. “Feel free to explore. We won’t be filming anything today, but we called Ms. Lynch in because we thought she’d want to see the set before we start.”
“It’s breathtaking,” I said. “Really.”
Stan strode off to speak to a man wrangling a bunch of lights. Veronica was at my side in seconds.
“Well?” she asked.
“He wanted to know if I liked it. And I do.”
“Fine. Now what?”
I stared at the people rushing back and forth and ducked as someone lifted a bench over our heads. The cut on the side of my head throbbed as I recalled the last time someone had moved something over me.
“We can go,” I said. “I’ve seen enough and hurt myself plenty for one day.”
“Great.” Veronica tugged me out of the house and back through the trees toward my car. “You can spend the rest of the day teaching me everything I need to know about these stupid books.”
• • •
We went back to my dorm for her lesson since all my Viking Moon notes were on my laptop, and I’d left it at home like an idiot. At least Reggie had told me the night before that she’d be spending the day with her parents, so I knew we’d have the room to ourselves. I unlocked the door and let Veronica in. She stood in front of my roommate’s side of the room, eyeing the Viking Moon books beside her bed before raising an eyebrow at me.
“You keep your own books next to you when you sleep?”
“Those are my roommate’s,” I said. “She’s a big fan.”
“Does she know who you are?”
“No, and we’re keeping it that way.”
“Okay.” Veronica sat on my bed and crossed her legs. I was pretty sure her wardrobe consisted only of dresses and skirts cut high enough to show off her tanned legs but still keep an air of mystery about her.
I grabbed my laptop and flipped it open. All of my books were in their own folders, neatly marked with outlines, character development arcs and traits, and Viking research. We spent hours poring over the files. To her credit, Veronica never complained or asked for a break. She rolled her eyes a couple of times when I got to some of the more romantic bits of the story, but I’d come to expect that from her.
My legs and back ached as we finished, and I closed my laptop before standing and stretching. I reached my hands over my head and glanced at the door. At that moment, it flew open and Reggie burst in.
“Hey, roomie!” Her face was red with the exertion of the stairs in the dorm and her hair puffed out in every direction. “Did you have a good day? I spent the day shopping with my mom and look at all this stuff we—”
The multitude of bags she’d been carrying fell from her hands and broke open on the floor. Books and clothing littered the hardwood around her, but she didn’t appear to notice.
“Holy crap on a Christmas cracker.”
Reggie stared at Veronica, who perched on my bed with furrowed eyebrows.
“Reggie,” I said. “This is—”
“I know who it is!” Reggie ran her hand through her thick mane. “You’re Aubrey Lynch!”
My roommate slammed into Veronica as she threw her arms around her and knocked her backward on the bed. I covered my mouth with my hand, but a laugh erupted out of me all the same. Veronica shot a venomous look in my direction.
“I take it you’re a fan?” Veronica asked.
I couldn’t see Reggie’s reply since her face was still buried in Veronica’s shoulder, but when Veronica gave me the finger, I assumed there was a lot of doting involved.
Veronica scrunched her face and unlaced my roommate from around her neck. She shoved Reggie hard enough to make her stagger across the room and stumble into her bed. Reggie straightened and looked at me, her eyes wide as she rubbed her thigh.
“Elise, what is Aubrey Lynch doing in our room?”
Veronica smoothed her skirt and looked at me to answer the question.
“Well, um, I’m her assistant while they’re filming the TV show,” I said.
“No way!” I didn’t even see Reggie’s hand as it shot out from her side and flew into my shoulder. She knocked me off balance and I lurched backward and fell onto my bed. My head hit the wall, sending pain shooting through my brain and reminding me it still ached from being knocked around earlier.
I touched my forehead. “Um, ow.”
“Sorry,” Reggie said, sitting across from us. “But how did you get the job? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
“I answered an ad online,” I lied. “And I didn’t want to tell you till I was
sure Aubrey was willing to hire me.”
Veronica pursed her lips as she studied my roommate. Her phone vibrated and blinked on the bed between us and she snatched it up and looked at the screen. She typed a reply, and I glanced at Reggie. My roommate shrugged.
“Well, it’s been delightful meeting a fan.” Veronica stood. “But it’s been a long-ass day. I’m gonna head home.”
“Do you need a ride?” I asked.
“Nah. I’ll grab a cab, or give some freshman boy a thrill and let him take me.”
“Okay.” I walked her to the door, hopping over Reggie’s forgotten purchases as if they were stones in a stream. “See you Thursday night? I think that’s the next time they want us there. First evening of filming.”
“Whatever.”
She exited without looking back and I closed the door behind her before taking a seat on my bed.
Reggie stared after her. “Wow, she’s kind of—”
“A bitch?” I offered.
“No! That’s not what I meant. She’s . . . she’s just not what I expected. Her books are so sweet and endearing. I thought she’d be the same.” Reggie shrugged. “But maybe she’s just socially awkward, you know? I mean, she is a writer. They spend an awful lot of time alone. She might just need some time to open up to people.”
“That must be it.”
“But, really, who cares about that right now,” she said. “’Cause you’re so freaking lucky! You get to work with her! I can’t believe it! Wait! Does this mean you also get to meet Gavin Hartley and Leila Clarke?”
The feeling of Gavin’s lips against my cheek surfaced and I touched the spot with my fingertip. “I met Gavin today, actually. He’s really sweet. I was kind of surprised. I expected someone who looks like him to be a grade-A jackass.”
“Oh my God! I’m so jealous!” Reggie flopped back on her bed and kicked the air with her feet. She turned to her side and propped herself up with her elbow. “You know what this means, right?”
I shook my head.
“This means we need to go out and celebrate! Come on! Let’s hit a bar!”
“Reggie, no. I’m really tired. It’s been a long day and I have a headache. Besides, we’re underage.”
“Oh, they don’t care about that stuff at the places around here. They know who their customers are.” She jumped to her feet and collected her purchases off the floor. “Now, come on. No excuses. Go wash up. Make yourself pretty. We’re going out.”
Fernbrooke had exactly three bars: One catered to an older clientele and was the kind of place where you nursed a beer all day in the dark while mourning the loss of employment or your hair. The second was nicknamed “the Old Kick and Stab” for reasons that didn’t need to be explained beyond that. Luckily for me, Reggie chose the third, the Happy Cactus, which was a little nicer than the other two, and thus busier on a Saturday night. My roommate, ever the social butterfly, knew the guy at the door from her Spanish class. He waved us past the line with a nod. We headed to a private booth in the corner near the bathrooms and Reggie slipped onto the bench across from me. Her eyes darted past the bar, between the packed bodies, and toward the entrance.
“He’s meeting us here?” I asked.
Reggie nodded, then her face broke into a grin. She waved to someone over my shoulder. “He’s here!” I smiled up at the cowboy as he approached our table.
“Howdy, beautiful Elise. The fair Regina.” Clint tipped his hat and sank into the booth beside my roommate, who had already scooted over to give him ample room. “It was so nice of y’all to invite me.”
“It was Reggie’s idea,” I said, unable to meet his gaze without thinking about his body pressed against mine outside our dorm. At least he hadn’t made any mention of it since it happened. Neither had I. Years of avoiding awkward conversations had made me an old pro at it.
Reggie beamed at Clint while I surveyed the bar. Red leather booths like ours took up most of the space on the outer edge of the room; almost all of them overflowed with college kids toasting with beer glasses or munching on nachos drowned in cheese and salsa. The walls boasted desert scenes to match the bar’s name. Potted cacti and jars of sand dotted the shelves by the windows, and a blinking blue OASIS sign drew the eye to the L-shaped bar on the other side of the room.
Clint tapped me on the wrist to bring my attention back to him. “I hear we’re celebratin’ something tonight. What’s the big to-do?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “I got a job as Aubrey Lynch’s assistant.”
“And who might that be?”
Reggie choked on a peanut. She beat her chest and coughed into a napkin.
“How can you not know who Aubrey Lynch is?” she asked, balling up the remnants of pulverized peanut. “She wrote Viking Moon! She’s, like, the most brilliant author ever.”
Her words settled themselves like warm drops of tea in my chest. I pursed my lips to stop a smile from overtaking them and giving me away.
Clint squinted at me. “Isn’t that the book you had the other day?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Reggie beat me to it. “Yes! It’s actually my copy. I loaned it to Elise.”
“The one about Vikings, right?”
“Right.” Reggie beamed.
Clint’s eyes met mine and I was once again struck by the clearness of them. “And you got a job working for her?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m her assistant on the set of the Viking Moon TV show.”
Our server’s appearance meant I didn’t have to explain any further. We ordered our drinks—beers all around—and the girl sauntered off without bothering to ask for ID. So, Reggie was right. They knew who paid their bills.
Without warning, Clint reached forward and touched the bandage on my forehead. I flinched, hitting my head on the back of the booth. Thank goodness it was padded. My poor head had taken quite a beating already.
“What happened?” the cowboy asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I pulled my hair down over the cut. “I was hit in the face with a boat on set today.”
“What?” Reggie asked.
“You know, that wouldn’t have happened in a cowboy TV show,” Clint said.
“Right. With my luck I’d have been trampled by a horse instead.”
My friends exchanged a look and Reggie giggled. The server dropped off our drinks in the middle of the table. My fingers grazed Clint’s as we both reached for the same glass. I snatched my hand back, and he nudged the glass toward me.
“That one’s all yours, darlin’. ”
I took a sip of my drink and someone kicked me in the shin.
Hard.
“Ow!” I gagged as beer went up my nose, then glared at Reggie. “What was that for?”
“Look who’s here,” she said.
I followed her pointing finger as I wiped at my face with a napkin.
Gavin and Veronica practically floated across the beige-tiled floor, their eyes on each other, and everyone else’s eyes on them. The groups around us, who looked like they’d filled the bar with noise only moments before, now hunched together, speaking in what I assumed were hushed voices.
The couple took a seat a few tables behind us and I ducked as Gavin’s gaze swept in my direction. I turned to Reggie and Clint.
“What are they doing here?” I asked.
Reggie shrugged. “That must’ve been the text she got earlier. You know, the one that made her run out of our room like there was a sale at Tiffany’s?”
I peered around the booth again and studied the couple. Veronica looked stunning, as usual. Her hair was half pulled back in a sparkling black clip that matched her curve-hugging black dress. Gavin sported a jacket and buttoned shirt over jeans, with one button undone to reveal a hint of his impressive chest.
Veronica leaned forward and said something to Gavin. I didn’t have a clear enough angle to see what it was. He laughed and her hand inched across the table and rested on his. He glanced at her manicured fingers, but didn’t pull a
way.
I swallowed the lump swelling in my throat. He’d been so sweet to me that afternoon, and so completely unaware of Veronica. But maybe he’d felt sorry for me. After all, I’d just been clocked by a boat. I was probably some sad assistant he wanted to make sure didn’t file a lawsuit against the production company.
I sat back in my seat and Reggie touched my hand. “Hey, you okay? You look like someone just ran over your hamster.”
“Of course. I mean, she works fast, but they make a gorgeous couple, don’t they?” Reggie nodded and Clint shrugged in reply. “Besides, it’s not like Gavin would ever notice anyone like me.”
Clint opened his mouth to say something, but I became distracted as the smell of cinnamon suddenly overpowered the barley scent of my beer, and I looked up in time to see Gavin headed past our table toward the bathrooms.
I dropped my napkin on the table and fell onto the bench, hiding my head beneath the table.
Reggie’s face appeared under the plastic tablecloth. “What the hell are you doing, El?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I lost my napkin.”
“It’s on the table.”
“Oh.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I jumped, banging my head against the table. Pain shot through my skull, right behind my eyes.
Fuck.
I grabbed my head and straightened to see Gavin staring at me, his lips curved in a smirk.
Double fuck.
“Elise!” he said. “I thought that was you. Why were you on the floor?”
“I dropped my napkin,” I muttered.
Gavin pointed to the balled-up white paper resting beside my beer. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the folds had formed a smile, simply to mock me. “That napkin?”
“Oh! There it is!” I grabbed the paper and slithered deeper into the booth, willing the padded red leather to swallow me whole.
Veronica appeared at Gavin’s side and her dark eyes flashed when she saw who had diverted his attention from her. “What are you doing here?” Gavin frowned at her, and her face softened, the same as it had when she’d met him on set earlier. “I mean, it’s so nice to see you here, Elise. I’m just surprised. I thought you were more of a stay-in-and-watch-Netflix-on-a-Saturday kind of gal.”